


Doctor Who / The Muskeeters - Richelieu / Clara - You are mine, and mine alone

by Samstown4077



Series: Fics as Books [5]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Dominance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, I added the violence warning, I don't even know how to tag this, Just to be sure, Light BDSM, Powerplay, Sex, Smut, Teasing, a plot with smut, alternative universe, and in the end this story turned into something more, but only to give some reason for smut, dirty dirty stuff, it's rough but... well, tata!, there will be a slight plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-26 08:50:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3844705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samstown4077/pseuds/Samstown4077
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cardinal Richelieu finds a new mistress in a woman called Clara. She has what most don't have around him, wit, charm and courage and she is also beautiful. He comes to her for her services and stays for...you have to find out for yourself. You expect smut, but you will find more, that I can promise. You can find a real plot here. It happened unintentional but now it is there, I leave it here. :)  E-Rated! Don't read this kids, when you have a problem with such content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01_Leaving an impression

**Author's Note:**

> I actually don't know why I write this, but my brain tortured me with good ideas and I couldn't help myself. The first chapter is only a teaser, with the second one we hit the M-rated stuff and with chapter three I am sure you'll get Explicit content. And I mean explicit content! As I said, I'll go to hell anyway, let's do it in style. 
> 
> Please note, I have not much clue about clothing in the 17th century, but I'll give my best, but I would guess you are not here for the historical accuracy. Also I haven't seen much of The Musketeers only tons of gifs and a bit of Richelieu on YT.  
> I'll try to publish every week a chapter around 3000 Words (this one time it will not get out of hand!) but I can't promise and I hope it will not be longer as nine chapters. I have the first 4 already in my mind, so this should be safe.  
> What else there is to know? Did I mention it will be E-rated? Have a good read.

Cardinal Richelieu didn’t liked when he had to part ways with his current mistress. Because it meant a long time to find a new one for him or at least his advisor and for the woman it mostly meant, the end to which they came was unpleasant. Not every woman had to be silenced the hard way, like his last mistress, most simply got brought away, with good money for their silence and threats that if they would ever breath a word about the relationship they had with him, they would face sudden consequences.

The last woman, he had for one year, and in the end, she had asked to many questions and had become unloyal. When he wanted something, than it was loyalty. For that the women got paid good. Also she had became a threat for king and country. She disappeared one day, at his order. He was not a man without a heart, and it had hurt him to see her die, but France stood above all for him.

His advisor stood one month later in his work chambers to tell him, he had found a woman that would suit him and would be willing to become his new mistress. Richelieu trusted his advisor, knowing he looked into each aspect of the woman’s life before even considering her for the him. Also he knew, one more mistake, he would die aside the girl who wanted to betray him next.

So it came, that the Cardinal’s carriage stopped in front of a middle class house in Paris. His personal guards in covered coats secured the door, while he had decided to pay the chosen girl a visit. He wanted to see her and talk with her before he would tie her and himself to any obligations. Richelieu tended to have only one mistress not more, everything more than one was too dangerous and too stressful, and a waste of money anyway. If he liked her he would try to keep her as long as possible, either till he got bored by her or she would make an inexcusable mistake.

Two of his guards stood in front of the chamber door, and he advised them to let nobody in, then one of the guards knocked and the Cardinal entered the room.

The room was comfortable big, a bed in the middle, a few armchairs by the fireplace. On the left by the entry a mirror with a dressing table in front, across from him, another table, for correspondence. In a shelf, books. Attached to the room was another smaller room, the bathroom.

When he entered, the owner of the chambers stood in the middle, in front of the bed, bowing to him. Richelieu closed the door, eyeing her. She was small, brown hair, but so far she looked pretty and the way she bowed he could see her bosom rise and fall heavily. She seemed to be nervous, and it made him smirk.

“You don’t have to bow,” he said, and the woman found back into an upright position. He pulled off his leather gloves while stepping closer, while eying her and the room. The bed was freshly made, what he liked, and the room was tidy. He was no one for chaos.

The girl had deep brown eyes, which were attentively directed at him, never leaving him, not even when he stood directly in front of her, at the edge of her personal space. Most people he knew would shy away.

She was young, not older than 29 he guessed, her skin was flawless, slightly brown from the sun and he found immediate delight in the curiosity that reflected in her eyes with a mix of wit.

He arched an eyebrow at her and she did the same, but kept silent. They had told her she was not allowed to speak, except he told her to do so. He couldn’t deny that she was rather beautiful.

Pursing his lips, he turned around and placed his gloves onto her dressing table, “You know who I am.”

She waited till he had turned around from the mirrors, where he had watched her for a moment, “It’s hard to miss, isn’t it?” her eyes travelled over his heavy leather tunic and the golden cross that hung around his neck.

Something in his face twitched, she knew he was about to form an opinion about her. She knew very well, this was only a first meeting, nothing was signed - he could reject her anytime. The Cardinal was not an easy man to please, he had certain demands for this kind of relationship - she had heard about it and was briefed from his consultant.

“What’s your name?” he stepped closer again.

“Clara, your eminence,” she was nervous to the edge, that told her her fast heartbeat, also she was good in hiding it.

He frowned for a second over her answer, glancing around the room again, as something was suddenly wrong, “It’s not a french name,” he landed back on her with his piercing green eyes.

Clara smirked, and the spark in her eyes became bigger, “No, it’s an English name,” she hated to stand on the spot and finally decided to move.

Stepping around him, she walked over to her dressing table, to take the Cardinals gloves in her hand. She liked to see his reaction to it, because he was not used to people suddenly moving around him. She was almost sure, they all were scared to even breath in his presence.

“You are not going to execute me for it, are you?” she held the gloves to her nose for a brief moment, before she placed them back onto the table.

That amused him, and he asked himself if the woman was really so dare to challenge him somehow, “I am sure there are many cruel rumours about me.”

“I never gave much about rumours,” she shrugged, crossing her arms behind her back, to avoid awkward fumbling with her fingers. Also she had heard what had happened with his last mistress, and she was not keen to follow this example.

“Maybe you should,” he peered at her. “Also I never have killed someone for having an English name.”

She gave it a laugh, she knew he had man to do the dirty work for him, “How relieving, then.”

“Why English?” he let his eyes blatantly wander over her body. “Your parents are not English, are they, because that would actually a reason for-”

“-No, they’re not, they’re simply had a foible for it,” she quickly interrupted, not wanting to hear the end of the sentence. “So when there is no problem with my name, we could come to the main reason you are here.”

Straight to business, he liked woman with such thinking. It was an indication of smartness for him, and he liked his woman beautiful and clever. As long they didn’t wanted to talk about politics and wanted to get involved, anything else was fine for him. Art. Music. It was a welcome distraction to find someone who was able to know the difference between a painting and a paper of notes. He would see, if she was really that clever.

Clara sat down in front of her mirrors, and reached for the hairbrush, keeping eye contact with Richelieu thru the mirror. His face had sharp lines, framed by short grey curls and she guessed him over fifty, what she didn’t minded at all - she liked her man older, more experienced, also she couldn’t take her eyes of his eyes, that seemed to be filled with mischief and wide awakeness all the time. He seemed like a predator to her, and this was what he was, without it no one could be that powerful as the Cardinal was. The man knew what he wanted and when he wanted it. A dangerous man, and Clara liked the aura that hung over him.

“I expect loyalty,” he positioned himself behind her, watching her through the reflection.

“Don’t you mean, you expect exclusivity?” she said snide, stopping for a moment in her movement of brushing her hair.

Clara knew she played a dangerous game. When she had caught the Cardinal on a bad day, the deal was off and he would be gone in an blink of an eye. They stared at each other for a few seconds, and she could see a muscle by his eye twitch before he pursed his lips, slightly lowering his chin what made his stare even more intense and it sent a shiver down Clara’s spine. The man was aware of his presence and mimik, and how he had to use it and how he could intensify his expression with the smallest of gestures.

“And what’s the difference?” he asked. It seemed she had caught him on a good day. His eyes fell down her shoulders. She had chosen a dress with a wider cleavage, what also allowed to show a lot of skin by her shoulders - deliberately of course.

“One you can buy,” she placed the brush away. “The other is a matter of merit.”

Oh, yes, she was clever, Richelieu thought, she had wit, more than some man he had worked with, more than some kings and country leaders he had met. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was convinced countries should be ruled by women - they usually made the more clever decisions, didn’t searched war as often as the men did, and also they were more pleasant to look at.

Clara kept seated, only watching him, and it was to her as if she could feel his eyes on her body already. It lit a warm feeling inside of her and it made her curious. Curious how he was, in bed. She never had a clergyman before - well aware that especially the one in higher positions didn’t took the vow of abstinence very serious. From what she had experienced in the last fifteen minutes and of what she had heard (what was not much) she expected him to be raw, some sort of animalistic. A man who had to deal with many problems, and the wellbeing of France and the King, was surely constantly overworked and his only relief would maybe be her services. For a second her eyes flickered to his hip, his middle was behind her head, and she knew she had betrayed herself - something, the Cardinal wouldn’t miss. When she met eyes with him again he had a devilish smile on his lips.

He had noticed her little visual excursion - and could now very well guess what was on her dirty little mind. Not that Richelieu minded, in the end it was what he wanted from her. His right hand rose and he shoved strands of hair aside, letting his hands land on her shoulders. Her skin was warm and she felt like velvet, it sent a spark into his being. His hand travelled over her collarbone and then his fingers came to rest around her throat. He felt her swallow, and a flicker in her eyes told him she found the touch precarious, also he didn’t put much pressure into his grip and so she relaxed slightly.

icking his lips, he shuffled closer and then pushed her firm but not harsh against his middle with her back, her head resting now on his leathery uniform where his stomach was. He wished he had the time now, to find out how she felt, or better how it felt to be inside of her. His last mistress was good with her mouth, and he hoped Clara was promising as well. She had a quick tongue, it must be good for other activities he mused, feeling his middle already react to her.

“Whatever you call it,” he finally spoke. “You’ll get paid very good, to offer your services and your attention to me, and only to me. When I want to see you, I’ll send a messenger in advance, and I expect you to be there when I want to see you!” he had lowered his face to her ears, his head radiating by her cheeks, piercing at her through the mirror, his grip now tighter, his thumb brushing slowly over her lips and he almost stumbled with his words, when he felt her tongue lick over his finger.

Quickly he let go of her and stepped away. “Also I expect you to … to inform me,” he waved toward her, in the direction of her womb, “when you are not available. Have you understood?”

Clara couldn’t hide a faint smirk over the remark. Men, courageous and sophisticated but they couldn’t deal with female anatomy, “Yes, your eminence, I have.” Clara stood up again, taking his gloves in hand and presented them to him.

“Good,” he took them from her impatiently, and did as if he was bored already, but Clara knew better. He wanted to dominate her and he made it clear in his next statement. “I own you.”

“Do you?” she might shouldn’t have said it, but her tongue was quicker as her mind sometimes, and now the only thing she could do, was hiding her fear he would do something to her.

He squinted at her, inhaling sharply. She was a wild beast, and a challenge. That would promise a few entertaining hours of him teaching her who owned her from now on. Once more he licked his lips, grinned and made a smacking sound, “Interesting,” for a moment his mask fell and revealed his desire for her, only to be replaced with a harsh expression and a glance around the room. “Expect your paying soon, and clean up, the room is a mess!”

And with this he left the room. Clara bowed, knowing she hadn’t to, but it was the only way to hide her smile.

This would be indeed very interesting.


	2. 02_Don't forget who owns you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cardinal returns to Clara's chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this thing writes itself while I am sleeping.  
> Note; we reach M-rated here.

Four days later, in the evening, the Cardinals messenger came for her, to tell her Richelieu would be on his way soon. Clara wasn’t doomed to be in her chambers all day long, for that the messenger was good. As soon as he had spotted her and she him, he turned on his heels to let the Cardinal know she was home. Also she could imagine him very displeased to wait too long for his messenger till he had found Clara in the city, so she tried to run her errands in the noon time, where she guessed the Cardinal was eating or praying or sending his men out to beat up some musketeers. 

She changed her dress in something more revealing and easy to get out of it. From the money he had transferred to her she had commissioned a clever sewer who was able to sew her not only fine robes, but also practical ones. 

She put up her hair and then heard already the loud carriage coming down the street. A glance out of the window confirmed her suspicion and she quickly grabbed for a book from the shelve before settling down onto her bed, leaning on one arm, half lying half sitting. Let’s see how the Cardinal would react to this.

As the first time, it knocked at the door and then the Cardinal entered without waiting for a “come in”, finding Clara on the bed.

Richelieu closed the door and leaned against them with his back, while turning the key. Immediately he had seen through her little plan to tease him, that her interest in the book was a set up only to make him eager. 

The girl had some bravado in her, he hadn’t expected, “I know men who hold the opinion to forbid women to read.” He tucked off his gloves and threw them onto the dressing table. 

Clara closed her book, and seated herself in a more upright position, “You seem to be surrounded by idiots then.”

It made him chuckle. He would cast out her effronteries as soon she would be sprawled out naked in front of him. Walking over to one of the armchairs, he loosened his heavy leather cloak and held it out to her. She knew she shouldn’t try her luck too hard, and obeyed, taking the thing from him and placed it carefully over the other armchair. 

Clara saw him wince while staring into the fire, she had lit, for a moment, “Are you in pain?”

“Yes,” he admitted. There was no reason not too, aside the sexual reasons he came for her, he needed her to knead away the knots in his shoulders, that made his head ache way too often. “My head.”

She stepped a bit closer, “Open your upper garb,” and earned a suspicious look from him. It was not her to give orders, so she quickly added. “The heavy leather only makes it worth. If you want me to lay hand on your shoulders, it has been removed or loosened.”

Richelieu took a moment to take her in with her dress. It was quite naughty, so much of her bosom he could see, also it hid the important parts, but he probably wouldn’t allow her to leave the house like this. The thought surprised him for a moment, he hadn’t seen her naked and yet he not wanted to share her with anyone. 

He spread his hands, offering her his lap. “Why don’t you make yourself useful,” there was clear command in his low voice, underlined with a glint of mischief in his eyes. 

Carefully she gathered her skirt a bit up and let herself down into his lap, her feet losing touch with the floor. Richelieu instantly brought his hands around her waist to help her to keep balance. She noted he had long fingers and beautiful hands. He took care of them, what she liked. There were too many men whose hands were dirty or simply attacked by weather and work. 

It was not the best position to help one with a sore back, Clara was not stupid, this was only an expedient to lure her into his nearness. Other men would have simply ordered her to the bed, made her undress herself and would take her - not the Cardinal. Richelieu liked to play games, not only in politics, he hated to have his prey served to him, without him doing anything for it. That was no fun. 

And prey she was, Clara had no status to him at all. When he wanted to take her, he would, and when he wanted to play, he would play with her. She was not afraid he would hurt her in any way, this wouldn’t be him. He might be ruthless with a raw nature when it came to women, but what she never had heard about him, was hurting his mistress's, except of course they betrayed him, then hurt was the least problem one would have. 

She felt his hands slowly shove up her spine, while she started to unbutton the heavy leather tunic. Many would look ridiculous in it, but Richelieu wore it masterful. 

In silence she opened three of the buttons, and revealed a black shirt he wore under it. Her right hand slipped between the cotton and the leather over his shoulders, digging her fingers into the hard muscle by the crook of his neck. 

Richelieu groaned under the touch and his eyes fell shut for a moment, his hands tight around her waist. She was strong for being so small, he thought. When she stopped, wondering if she had hurt him, he only uttered to go on. Skillful she digged her delicate fingers into the tense muscle, making little circles with force and it hurt, but after a minute he felt himself and the muscle relax. 

Hearing him groan from time to time under her touch, encouraged her and so she switched to his other shoulder, this time she slipped her hand under the black shirt onto his skin. 

When he felt it, his hand grabbed for her arm, stopping her, he hadn’t given her permission to touch him like this and for a second he was tempted to push her of his lap. 

“Does your excellence not like my treatment?” her hand was still under the shirt and on his skin and he felt her fingernails softly scratch over him. His hand around her waist wandered to the back of her neck, till his fingers had entangled with her hair and had cupped the back of her head. There was a certain force in it, and when his eyes flickered to her mouth, Clara believed he would make her kiss him. 

Instead he stood up and gently shoved her from his lap, “Undress for me.” He walked over to the bed and sat down, motioning her over so the light of the candles that were lit by the bed, would shine on her. 

“If you wish,” Clara started slowly to untie the laces of her dress at her front. With each untied lace the Cardinal seemed to breath harder and she was wondering if there was the same warm feeling inside of him as inside of her. 

Aside it took forever for women to undress, he had found certain pleasure watching them do it. It spurred on his fantasies and when he was in the mood he took it as an agonizing foreplay. Right now, seeing her peel herself of the many layers, he felt his middle come to life and his member already began to harden. He noted, that it was a clever dress - once she had loosened all the laces, she shoved the whole thing down and stood in front of him in only her chemise, that was tight around her body and underlined her curves. 

When she was about to take the last piece of clothes off, he stopped her with a motion of his hand. “Come here and turn around.”

She did and heard him stand up from the bed, stepping behind her, and soon she felt his clothes brush against her. He was a tall man and towered over her, and she realized she held her breath, when his fingertips - and only his fingertips - landed on her shoulders. 

His two thumbs trailed along the bones of her spine and she shivered. It was not what she had expected. Than he loosened the knot at the back of the chemise, and shoved the material apart till it was wide enough to fall over her shoulders to the ground. Clara didn’t dare to move, now naked and all so vulnerable. The smooth leather of his costume touched her bottom. 

Richelieu liked what he saw. The young skin gleamed in the soft light of the candles. His left hand stayed on her shoulder, his right palm wandered over her spine down to her bottom - slowly. When he heard her hum, his erection twitched inside his breeches - he was hard already. His hand circled around one of her buttocks, scratching over it before he squeezed it with a lick of his lips. 

That made her step back with a gasp and she bumped against his lean body and she wondered if the bulge she felt was only his gear or his hard cock. 

It took him lot’s of self esteem not to bow her over, open his breeches and fuck her right there. He had way too much delight in making himself want her and make her shudder. 

Letting go of her shoulder, he brought his hand around her and cupped one of her breasts. The other he laid over her hipbone, pressing her against his middle till it almost pained him. 

God, Clara thought, eyes closed the moment he had grabbed her buttock. The man was teasing her and she knew, aside it was only the beginning of a game he liked to play, that she was already wet and wanting and tried not to imagine what he could do to her in later moments. She saw herself beg him to maker her come, to slide himself into her, till she was calling out his name. 

That was not good, she thought, knowing it was never good to give one man too much control over her. Then he pinched her nipple tenderly and she gasped. It wouldn’t be easy to make the table turn. 

He growled when she reacted to his little attack and his hip bucked involuntary against her. She had full breasts a good handful and he imagined for a moment to flick his tongue around her hard nipples and suck them into his mouth. It wouldn’t take him long and she would beg him on her knees to release her, but he already saw the danger in it. Saw how he reacted to her, how he wanted her already, how he enjoyed this all. Pushing his thoughts aside, he decided it was time for a little more and just in the moment, his fingers reached her pubic hair, there was a loud knock at the door. 

Both slightly jumped, startled by the unexpected disturbance. The Cardinal hissed under his breath, ready to execute the person behind the door by himself when necessary. 

It knocked again, “Cardinal?” It was Trevilles voice and Richelieu hopped he better had a good excuse. 

“In a minute!” he called, and stepped away from Clara who eyed him in a mix of dazing lust and anger about the disturbance. Richelieu tried to ignore the little glister between her legs, and waved with his hand, so she would get herself a cover. 

Clara grabbed for a cape that hung aside the bed, she usually used to cover herself from the weather, but right now it was the only thing, to cover all of her body in short time. Richelieu waited till she had pulled the cape around her and then walked over to the door, to open it with such force, that Clara was afraid something would break - and when it was Trevilles neck.

“This is better be important, Treville,” he hissed, realizing that his jacket was still open. 

“The King wants to see you, it’s a matter of importance,” Treville bowed slightly. “He told me to bring you to him without delay.”

Richelieu clenched his jaw, persuading his own anger to hold back, “I’m on my way.” Then he closed the door again, and turned around, to find Clara stand by her dressing table. 

She was still in a heated mood, and the desire he had inflicted was very insistent swirling through her body. Not that she expected an apology, or kind words, but when the Cardinal simply stepped to the armchairs, to get his cloak with the words, “We are finished here.” something made her snap inside.

“For King and Country, right?” 

Richelieu was still hard, still in need to take her, but his mood was now faul and he wouldn’t let a woman make snappy comments. With quick strides he stood behind her and grabbed her by the shoulders. This time it was a hard grip and probably would leave slight marks on her body. Their eyes met in the mirror, before he teared the cape apart, revealing her nakedness. 

“Don’t forget who owns you!” he hissed and without a warning he slipped two of his fingers down between her folds inside of her. Clara gasped over the sudden sensation. A mix of pain and desire, when his long fingers pushed into her wet core. 

It didn’t help him and his throbbing member, that she was wet and hot inside and he regretted to have done it. Maybe she wouldn’t find sleep over it, but he knew he wouldn’t as well. Then he let his fingers slip out of her, over her clit and it made her moan. 

The second he hesitated too long, to push her away, restored her confidence in her effect on him. And so before he was able to open the door, she stepped up to him, and grabbed the hand he had touched her with, only to take one of his fingers into her mouth, licking her own juice from it. 

The Cardinal gasped - her doing had caught him all unexpected, his mimic slipped him. She smirked and waited till he had regained control over himself again, “How could I.”

His nostrils swelled, and for a moment he thought to hell with king and country, but one of his guards called out to him, and so he left her without further comment, finding himself sitting in his carriage, staring down his hand. He rose the one finger she hadn’t licked to his nose and by god, he knew he would need to take care of himself later that night in his private chambers to let his hard cock find release. It was not only king and country who owned him in this moment.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the reads till now and the kudos you left. Don't stop doing it, leave a comment if you like!


	3. 03_Order me!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When two control freaks meet in the bed room, many things can happen - some seem to be very naughty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said, this wouldn't get out of hand, right? This chapter did.

The night after Cardinal Richelieu had to leave Clara, because the king needed his advice in an political issue - and it was important and the only right thing to do in that moment -, Richelieu found himself in his private chambers tossing about in his bed, fighting the warm feeling in his body, and the persistent hardness between his legs.

While with the king, it had gone away again, but once in his chambers, undressing, and about to do his evening prayer he found his mind disturbed by her face, by her scent. He hadn’t washed his hands, and so while clasping his hands for his prayers, her sweet odor crawled into his nose and his prayer quickly deviated from God to fantasies of her - all undressed. Lying on her bed, legs spread wide open for him, whispering to him to take her and he felt his cock harden.

That had never happened before, him all distracted by one of his mistress’s, filled up with lust and the need to release. After an half hour of hoping it would go away, his hand found itself around his member, gently stroking - not that he never had done that before, but he was usually able to will the carnal desire away, and this time he wasn’t and so he stroke himself first gently and in the end fast and hard, till he came into his sheets with a groan and eyes wide open - a picture of her in his head.

It helped for a bit, but after four days, and several incidents with musketeers and hard negotiations with the spanish ambassador he sent out his messenger, only to follow him in short distance and when he turned on his heels, he knew Clara was home, and he hesitated no moment and entered her rooms.

She wasn’t ready for him yet, only just about to go through her stock of dresses to find a nice one, and still wearing a simpler mint green one. Clara didn’t liked that he hadn’t given her time to change, she didn’t like he still entered without waiting for an invitation and that he had taken - in her opinion - four long days to show up again, after he had turned her on so much the last time.

She had hoped for a quick return, by no later the next night. Aside knowing she had no rights, and he was a busy man - maybe the most important and most powerful in France, Clara found herself sulking over the fact, that he seemed to give a damn about her and she obviously was only an “item” for him. She might sold her body, and there were people who despised her for it, but she had standarts.

“I hadn’t time to change yet,” she begun, facing him, seeing his chest rise and fall faster as the last few times. “I thought your excellency would appreciate when his mistress dresses for him.”

He lowered his chin and glared at her, sensing the despicable mood she seemed to be in, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Probably not,” Clara stepped closer, her eyes wandering over him, knowing she played a dangerous game with taking out her mood on him. But she couldn’t stop herself, it was like wanting to make him react, like a dangerous curiosity how he would react to her. “Did you bring Captain Treville again?”

Oh, how dare she was! With the thick, heavy cloak still tearing at his shoulders, he stepped forcefully toward her, reaching out for her before he even was by her, grabbing her arm. He noticed she didn’t flinch away.

He pulled Clara in, the other hand grabbing her chin, to hinder her from locking away, in case she wanted to, the other arm, let go of her arm, and found its way around her waist.

“Brazen wench!” he glared at her and his jaw shook in his anger, while he thought feverish what to do with her. How to fuck good behaviour into her.

Clara leaned against his forced embrace, but the Cardinal was a strong man, and the arm around her waist, the hand sprawled over her back, didn’t give her much room to retreat. She had given him enough reason to violate her in many forms, but decided to trust her instinct he wouldn’t do her real harm. Though, her heart hammered hard in her chest, when she held his stare.

Then he let go of her face and pulled out a small dagger from somewhere under his cloak. Almost solemnly he held it up in front of her face, and she found herself stepping back. His grip became more harder, and when the metal flashed up in the dim light, she feared for her life for a moment.

Her fear must have been visible in her face, because she could see him smile almost wickedly for a second, before he laid the dagger down on the top of her bosom, by the laces of her dress, “Don’t forget, I have men, to do this kind of dirty work for me.”

With that he cut through the first pair of laces, and Clara held her breath. His grip loosened and it would have been easy to get away from him, also she decided not to. When the last of the laces were cut, he threw the dagger away onto the floor, and then loosened the clasp that held his cloak, to make it follow the dagger.

Long seconds went by in them Richelieu let his eyes wander over her face. Then his hand, landed on her bosom, gently, shoving the destroyed fabric aside, till her chemis came to light. It didn’t stop him, and he tugged the thin fabric away, till her left nipple was revealed.

Clara swallowed, watching attentive what he did. In one minute he was forceful, angry and dangerous and in the next, he caressed her skin with gentle strokes, licking his lips in a provocative way, that made her ask herself how his lips would taste on hers.

He rose two fingers to his lips, licked them, and began then to circle her nipple till the flesh became hard. The touch took away her breath and her eyes fell shut.

A hum filled the room, and it wasn’t her, it was the Cardinal, “Tell me Clara, do you like what I do with you?”

She shuddered over the deep, growling voice, “Yes, your eminence.”

Another hum, this time more like a purr, and he stepped away from her, and for a moment it was for her as if she would fall done to the floor like a puppet, whose strings got cut.

“Take off your dress, everything,” he nodded over and began to open up the buttons of his leather garb, not without keeping his eyes on her.

The Cardinal had done good work with the dress, and it was only two or three grips, and she stood naked in the room. She could see that his eyes flickered hungrily over her body, while he still was undoing his gear. Then after a time, that seemed forever, the heavy thing fell down to the floor with a thud. Under it, he was wearing the black shirt again, his breeches were black cotton with luxurious embroideries - all black in black, and his knee high boots.

He rose his hand and motioned her over to the dressing table with one finger. Clara followed his silent command, filled with warmth again and silently hoping for a repetition of the last time - without the Captain Treville part.

She stopped in front of him, way too close and needed to tilt up her chin to look him in the eyes. In this moment, her fear of him was gone again, and not even her nakedness was a weak point. No, it was the ace in her hand.

“You have something at you, a lot of men lacking,” he began, and stepped behind her, positioning both of them in front of the mirror. His hands gliding down her back.

“A bosom?” she asked cheekily, with a grin, and as punishment he grabbed her by the waist, pressing her against him. He was hard, very, and this time she could be sure of what it was.

Richelieu didn’t know if he should thank his advisor for finding her, or if he should get him executed. How dare she was, how outrageous in her being and in her wits. He wanted to do scandalous things to her, and sensed she would consent without a question. Why did he liked the way she was so much? Why did the way she angered and teased him, turn the fire in his loins into an uncontrollable blaze.

His left hand travelled from her waist, over her stomach up her body, stroking her breast, circling her nipple once more before pressing her head against his shoulder. The other hand, he brought between her legs, and when she felt his fingers brush over her clit, Clara gasped.

His fingers dipped between her folds, and when he noted how wet she was for him, his erection twitched, “God, girl,” it slipped him, while watching her relax into his body and into his touch. Then his middle finger slit along her entrance, teasing her, spreading her wetness.

“Cardinal,” she whispered, eyes closed, one hand landed on his side, the other reached around his neck, to find something to hold on.

It took all his will, not to enter her with his fingers straightaway, first he wanted her to suffer. Make her whimper and shudder, but when her hand landed on his neck, grabbing for his short curls with moans of lust, he found himself pressing her head back to suck at her throat feverishly.

Then he cupped her breast, squeezing it, rolling her nipple between his fingers, and when she moaned and whispered his official title again, he gave in.

Two of his fingers entered her, his palm over her clit to give her more pleasure with every stroke of his hand, watching him and her in the mirror. He would go to hell for this, he knew.

Clara moaned, bit her lips, scratched his neck and tugged at his hair, to signal him that she wanted more, that she needed more, a faster rhythm, a harder one, she wasn’t sure, she only knew she needed more of everything.

His fingers fucked her slowly, but firm, his thumb trailing over the little nub and so waves of fierce pleasure run through her, and her mind went blank. There was no way she would get back control right now, and she didn’t want to have control because it was all she had ever dreamed off. Being taken like this, not one man had ever pleasured her like this, and the only thing she could do was breath hot into his ear, his rank and how good it felt.

“You like it, yes?” he growled over biting her flesh and rubbing himself against her side. “But remember, I can stop any time,” he stilled in his motions and Clara let out a frustrated moan and moved her hip forward to animate him to go on. Richelieu smiled against her neck, observing her in the reflection, seeing her eyes come open again, all dark and dizzy. “Leave you all frustrated. Because I can. Because I own you.”

Fuck, Clara thought. He was right. The Cardinal owned her, not only because he paid her. No, he owned her in this minute because she wanted him to own her, “Cardinal-” she began, but he pushed his fingers deep into her, silencing her.

“-No! It’s Armand!” he sucked at her earlobe. “Not Cardinal, not Eminence, not anything else but Armand!” then he went on, searching for the one spot in her, he knew it was there.

“Armand…,” she whispered, and alone using his Christian name, almost made her come. To distract herself, the hand on his side grabbed for his middle, his pulsing cock under his breeches, and started stroking him in the same rhythm he gave to her.

Hearing his name out of her sweet mouth, made the fine hairs on the back of his neck, prickle and when he felt her strong hands around his erection, he thought he would fall with her down to the floor. He was about to lose control again and needed many strokes to find the strength, to slip his fingers out of her and make her turn in his arms.

How could he stop now? Why wasn’t he so close to edge as she was? Looking into his greenish eyes, pupils blown, she knew he was, it was simply the last bit of strength he had, to let go of her - now the amount of will in him was drained.

A few seconds went by, and they only looked at each other, breathing heavily, intoxicated with lust and greedy need for each other. Clara was almost glad, he had let go of her because it helped her to regain strength and will again.

She then decided it was her turn and her hands started quickly to undo his trousers, and before he realized what was happening, she had his hard cock in her hand and was squeezing him with a frivolous and satisfied smile on her lips.

He was hard as a rock, and the flesh pulsed in her hand. He was well endowed, the mix she liked. Not to thin, not to long, but marvelously thick, and she couldn’t be more eager to have him inside of her soon.

When her hand was all wet and she thought she had seen enough of his member for now, she looked up and found him staring at her. His upper body was shaking, and his jaw was clenching. She guessed he recited prayers in his head to stop himself from releasing too soon.

Clara was back in play and Armand that knew too, “Do you like that? My hand around your manhood?”

He couldn’t answer, he had no air for it. His breath went short and in the rhythm she gave him, while biting the inner of his cheeks. Richelieu was tempted to tell her that he wanted to come, but he was stubborn and this admission was the only thing that held him from losing all his power over her.

A smirk flickered over her face, and he anticipated what would come next, “Because I can stop anytime.”

Her hands lets go of him in the middle of an agonizing long stroke. Then she stepped back from him, and sat down on the bed, crossing one leg over the other, leaning slightly back, supporting herself with her hands on the bed, and Richelieu was unsure if he ever had seen a naked woman more confident of herself. He needed a moment to move, to become aware that he stood there, her lusty eyes taking him in - his erection hanging out.

Then he suddenly yanked his shirt from his body to the floor and Clara held her breath for a second, taking in his lean body. He was fit for his age, lean but not to thin, muscles span under his pale skin and the spare chest hair. His arms were well defined, and she was sure he was a strong man and could kill another with his bare hands when he needed too. Her eyes followed a thin path of black hair from his navel down to the edge of his pubic hair, his cock still hard, staring her literally into the face.

Leaning forward she gave him a naughty look, opening her mouth - her tongue ready to taste him, but he stopped her, “Lean back!” and his hand spun around his length and Clara gasped by the sight of him, starting to stroke himself.

“Touch yourself!” he stepped closer till his legs, touched the bed watching Clara shift into the middle of the bed. He knew she had expected that he would take her - finally after all this time of playing and teasing, but it was not his intention. Not yet, not till he was back in control again.

She did as he ordered her, and her hands wandered down to her middle, her legs spread wide open. Clara placed one hand over her pubic bone, making the flesh uncover her clit, and the other hand she dipped into her mouth before starting to circle her most sensitive spot.

At first Richelieu saw, that she was restrained, unsure what was his aim and he guessed no other man had ordered her to do this before. Working herself off, while one stood in front of her like a dirty voyeur. He should have felt ashamed, stroking himself in front of her, while observing her moves, but he wasn’t one little bit. And then after a minute she forgot he was looking, her eyes fell shut and she enjoyed her own touches with gasps and moans of excitement. Her hip started to move, started to jerk while two fingers circled around the little nub, at first slow and then more intense. He followed her rhythm, stroke himself with the same intensity, and when he felt he was about to come, he ordered her to stop and to open her eyes.

“Armand,...” a mix of protest and pleating.

He was so hungry for her, he was unable to put it in words in his head. Everything that made him out over the day; his grace, his sophistication and his eloquence, were now pushed aside by lust and an animal need for sex and the want to come - whatever it would cost. So he leaned forward and brought himself over her, straddled her legs, and brought his cock to her entrance, rubbing against her. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” it came without a second hesitation. “Armand, … god please! Please, take me!”

He was so dizzy in his head, after breathing all staccato since twenty minutes, and maybe it was this what made him say, “Order me! Order me to fuck you!”

If she wouldn’t have been so full of lust, she would have wondered about it, but she was beyond all and everything. Sound mind, clear thinking and most of all questioning his behaviour. The only thing she wanted was him to push himself into her, to end this agonizing, sinful game, “Fuck me!” she wriggled with her hips, reaching out with one hand, touching him by his shoulder. “Do it, Armand! Fuck me, or god help you!”

He pushed forward and was inside her with a long groan, still balancing his body with outstretched arms over her. Clara arched her back, over the sensation, feeling his thickness inside her, sending waves of heat through her, making her body almost collapse.

“Touch yourself,” he said with a raspy, low voice, and his eyes seemed to burn a hole into her. “Make yourself come!”

And while he towered over her, their hips connected, but the rest of them not touching, she did quick work, making her body move with the waves of warmth and her hip jerk up in a relentless pulse.

With each time her hip moved, Armand groaned, still not moving himself - letting Clara work for him. His head dropped and he watched her hands circle around her clit, and his cock slide in and out whenever she moved. She fucked herself and she fucked him, and it was the most dirtiest thing he had ever done and had ever seen and when she came hard with his name as an outcry on her lips, his fingers clawed into the bedspreads and he bit his lips so hard he thought he must bleed, to avoid a violent roar.

In the air hung the mix of sex and sweat and both of them panted. Clara had covered her face with her hands, struggling for breath, all red and exhausted, while the Cardinal was still in the same position, still in her, his head hanging down, and his forehead was almost touching her chest. She felt his breath against her skin and shivered, and without thinking, one hand touched the grey hair by his temples.

It was the touch of her, that brought him back into the moment, revitalized his mind and he rose his face, finding her look at him, cheeks red and her hair was a mess. Her eyes smiled at him, and her fingertips brushed tender against his ear and the only thing he could think was, how beautiful she looked. A heavy quiver ran through his body, and he cringed away from her touch, looking at her in disbelief and he felt how anger rose.

She read it in his eyes, and moved her hand away, without taking it away completely. Her eyes squinted at him for a second, trying to see what else there was in his look. Something she couldn’t understand yet and as if he noted, that she was about to reveal what was under his angry look, he looked away, pushed himself up, one last sensation ran through both of them.

He gathered his shirt and his leather gear from the floor and started to dress himself without giving her any attention. Only when he was finished, and put on his cloak he saw she was still naked laying on her bed, watching him.

“Go, and clean up yourself,” he wanted to order with a wave toward the bedroom, but it sounded more like an option.

“I do as I like in my chambers,” Clara reached for a blanket to at least cover herself. “Most of all, after it seems that we’re done here.”

Her reaction confused him, and since a long time he didn’t know how to react to it. His hands brushed over the golden cross around his neck, spinning it, “Yes.” And the next thing Clara heard, were her doors, falling shut and the carriage driving away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As some of you might notice, that under all the smut and filthy words, there is an actual plot hiding. Don't ask me where this will go, but I am already fearing not to find an end here.  
> Thank you for all the response and leave a comment if you like!


	4. 04_What I want, and what I can't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Richelieu shows up on Clara's door step things are about to happen and things are about to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it seems you guys, like this story... so I'll give my best to deliver.

After the Cardinal had left her, Clara stayed in bed, unwilling to move and slept painted with his scent and seed naked like she was. 

The morning light woke her and she found faint bruises around her hip and by her neck, where Armand had kissed her so intensely. The remembrance of the last night sent shivers through her and she wished he would have been stayed, so now he could ease her need. 

A week went by and Clara had spent each evening waiting for him, staring out of the window to spot one of his men or the carriage of him, but he didn’t showed up. And then she became _“unavailable”_ and had to sent him a short message. It was all too simple. A red cross for her inconvenience and a black one, that she would be ready for him, when he needed her. 

Obviously he didn’t, because a whole month passed and she hadn’t heard at all from him and hope left her for a soon return into her chambers. And when she heard the rumours that he had left to Le Havre with the King, she guessed he might never would show up at her doorstep again. The thought made her heart sink and she couldn’t find the enthusiasm to lay hand on herself to ease the pain, that all the fantasies about him created. 

The only thing that kept her hopes a bit alive, was the fact, that he still sent money every week, and he even had raised the payment. A few times she had tried to ask the man - a reliable soldier - about the Cardinals whereabouts, but he told her, he was not allowed to speak to her, aside for the necessity about the money. Telling her about Richelieu would probably sign off a death sentence for the man, and so she stopped asking. 

And when week eight was almost over, she had forbidden herself to think about him. The dagger he had left behind, she had laid on her table for the correspondence, taking it in hand from time to time. It was the only thing she had from him, and it gave her the feeling to be close to him, but after eight weeks, she decided it was enough, and put it in a box - out of sight. And when the night had fallen, she changed into a white nightgown and went to sleep. 

Armand pondered three weeks over paying her a visit or not, and three times he had already called for one of his men to go look for her, but then he had decided against it and locked his chambers to distract himself with work. Work, he couldn’t do properly because he was angry and distracted by the thought of her. Every night before he fell asleep, scenes of their little tête-à-tête ravished through his mind and made him cringe and roll to the side, like a little boy, always tempted to touch himself, but he couldn’t. Doing it would mean, he would give in and not only into his lust, more into her and the admission that he wanted her more than just as a toy. 

The King’s idea to go to Le Havre to meet there with some politicians of the country, was a welcome distraction. At least he thought it was. When they finally left, each mile that the horses brought between him and Paris, made him more unstrung and he shifted restlessly in his seat. Only when they finally arrived their destination and he had taken a long bath and had taken a long walk he could relax again. Also it was never enough to distract him completely from her, and when the time in Le Havre finally came to an end, and they reached after long hours in the carriage Paris, he heard himself order his driver to a certain address. 

When the carriage arrived, he didn’t move, it was in the middle of the night, and he tried to convince himself to go home, to find rest and sleep. That all this was a bad idea.

Then anger and fury settled in. Did this woman really rule him? No, not in a hundred years! He, the Cardinal, the most powerful man in France was not owned by a woman, and above all not owned by a ordinary wench! And then he saw the picture of her again, when she had taken him in her hand, had stroked him, only to tell him she was in control. 

His hand reached for the handle of the door, and filled up with rage, he jumped out of the carriage and entered the house in which Clara lived. 

The steps creaked under his heavy step and when he reached the door of her bedchamber, he blew his fist against the wood, his hand reaching out for the door handle. Already having pushed it down, he stilled. 

A sudden regret overcame him in his vehement fury, and he frowned at himself, trying to urge him to step inside. Instead Armand’s hand let go of the handle and to stop himself from entering he banged again against the door.

Clara woke through loud noises and banging at her door. Startled at first, she didn’t know what was happening, then it knocked again, and she decided it might was best to act, before the intruder would act for her and it would come to unforeseen consequences. 

Only wearing her nightgown she ran over to the double door and ripped them open, “What in God’s name-” 

They both could only stare at each other over the surprise to see each other again. She hadn’t expected him to be the intruder and was now blown away and lost with words, to find him in front of her door, in the middle of the night. 

She blinked and took him in, his cloak was wrinkled - he held it over his arm, what indicated a long journey with sitting around. There she remembered, that she had heard the clatter of hooves on the pavement, but had assumed she was dreaming. 

He looked angry, churned up and behind all this, very tired, but when they locked eyes, Clara could see something flare to life in him and his stern expression softened slightly, “Cardinal.”

Her hair was tousled, hanging over her shoulders, her face slightly red - she must have been fast asleep, he guessed. The nightgown was falling nicely around her curves and he was not sure if the material was slightly translucent or if it was his imagination. 

Suddenly his mouth was dry and he needed to like his lips. His anger was about to vanish, and it was not what he wanted. So he pushed thoughts into his head to make him angry again - they were not even about her, but about musketeers and some stupid advisors he once had. It didn’t help, instead of ranting and raving with her, he only said, “I thought, we agreed on Armand.”

Then he stepped inside and closed the door, and Clara stepped backwards, till there was a wide space between them. She wasn’t sure what would happen next, and why he was here. Two month had became a long time and she found herself caught between joy over his presence and the fact, he hadn’t abandoned her yet, and the fright he was here for something else. The cold crept up her feet, and his persona in the room, all looking, but not moving or about to say something, made her nervous and she knew she tended to babble then, and that’s what she did, “I haven’t expected you. There was no messenger, was there? Because-”

“-No,” it was a wonder to him, that she didn’t see him battle in the inside of him. He was almost sure it was obvious, also he had learned to make a poker face in all those years as political advisor and then he noted, that he stood stock still and the fumbling with his hands and the swaying around only happened in his head. 

His hand reached for the clasp of his cloak, and the buttons of his garb and he quickly shoved the leather from his shoulders, feeling immediate relief from the insistent pain in the back of his neck. 

Then something in the room shifted. It was invisible and Clara couldn’t explain what happened between them. The feeling that he seemed to be wrong in this place, at this time of night got swept away with the realization, that it was the only place he had to be in this moment and the same applied to her. 

In only three large strides he captured her with his arms and pulled her in, his hands around her back and the back of her head, his lips covering hers for a long necessary kiss, that became quickly heated and passionate. 

Clara had no intention of pulling away, all to the contrary she had flung herself into his arms, the moment she had felt his hands reach out for her, laying her hands around his neck, to pull him down. His tongue pleading for access immediately and she granted it to him, with a moan. Hungrily they sucked at each others tongue and lips, as if they wanted to eat each other up, groaning and stumbling back against one of the bedposts. 

It had been a while that he had kissed a woman like this. Yes, he had kissed mistress’s, but it hadn’t been his, and he only had done it, to make his position clear, to give the girls he fucked some carrot-and-stick policy to make them obey to him. 

With her it was different as it seemed, with her it was a discovery of something he hadn’t experienced yet. 

_‘Stop!’_ something in his head called, but he ignored it, tugging at Clara’s nightgown, lifting it up a bit, so his hands could slip under the cotton, to touch her. Oh, and how warm she was, heated from her sleep, heated from him and his kisses and he clutched her skin and the soft flesh by her hip and bottom tightly, pressing his growing erection against her middle. 

Clara was desperate, two month without any sex and self touching let her rose her hands, to fiddle with his shirt, and when she had undone the laces by his throat, she tugged it up, and he let her shove it over his head, only breaking the kiss for a fraction of second. 

She needed to touch him, kiss his chest, and find out about his sensitive spots and so she broke away, leaning forward, to capture one of his nipples with her mouth. 

Richelieu groaned, both hands around her bum, squeezing it. She repeated this with the other side and her hands found their way to the laces of his breeches and without asking for any permission, she slipped her hand under the undergarments he was wearing and took his testicles in her hand. 

It made him jump, “Fuck,” and she took it as a compliment and massaged him with one hand and fiddled with the rest of his trousers with the other, to give herself and him more room. 

_‘Stop!’_ it yelled this time in his head, and he obeyed to his concerns, and grabbed her wrist to stop her. 

The grip was hard and she knew something was up. 

“Turn around!” he ordered with a deep, demanding voice. “Turn around and don’t dare to move!”

Clara turned around and placed both her hands onto the bed post, the nightgown falling back in position again. Listening, she knew he was about to undress himself, to get rid of the boots and his trousers. Then she heard him step up behind her, feeling his hands on her hip, trailing around her bottom, his fingertips gathering the nightgown up inch by inch. 

“Do you really think, I care about you?” he began, and it stung hearing him say it. “You think I come to you for _your_ pleasure? Do you really believe you have control over me?” her bottom was now revealed and he laid his hands around her hipbones, making her step back, and pushing her upper body forward, ordering her to keep the hands on the bed post. Then he made her legs step apart, and she spread open for him, and it made her shudder. 

Yes, his word stung, but she was not about to give up, she would find a way to control him again, to make her position clear. When he thought he was the only one who could play this game, he was wrong. 

Richelieu gave himself a moment to admire her in this position, he loved the position, because it was all about dominance. She was ready for him, he could see her cunt glister in its wetness and his cock twitched all wanting, and leaked already pre cum. This was the moment he would fuck sense into her, make clear what she was to him, make her beg like a little girl. 

Clara felt the tip of his cock at her entrance, lingering there, rubbing between her folds to built up friction and to demand access. When she felt him push inside her she couldn’t hold still and held against it, shifting toward him and they both moaned when he sunk into her heated core. 

It was like diving into a hot bath for him. His fingers of his right hand dug into her soft flesh and his left hand stroked up her spine toward her shoulder to push her even more into him. She felt deliciously tight around him and hearing her moan when he started to slide out again, only to push into her once more, made him bite his lips. Her head dropped down to rest on her arms, and it sent a satisfying grin over his face. Then he started to give her a leisure rhythm.

With every thrust she became more afraid that her legs would collapse under the wonderful sensation his cock gave her. In this position she was tight around him and she could feel each inch of his length. He didn’t know, but he hit the one spot of her, that sent waves of almost painful delight through her, with every thrust, “God, Armand, that’s-”

He gave her a harder thrust to silence her, “Don’t speak!” and he liked the sensation that built up in him, when he made her obey. It made the feeling in his belly more intense and he believed he would soon come. “You only speak when I allow you too,” he gasped, fucking her harder now, and he could hear and see that she was close herself. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Clara gasped under her breath, very close to her climax. If he would go on like this, she would come and so she kept silent, in fear he would stop when she would do something he didn’t like. It was only a minute, one more minute him taking her like this, ramming his cock inside her tight cunt, and she would reach redemption. 

He panted, his growing orgasm started to become something else and he didn’t knew why. There was still this heavy feeling in his stomach, his muscles clenching and trembling, and then it started to hurt. It was like he would come soon, but he knew it wouldn’t happen, because something was wrong. Not with him, not with her - with the situation. Thinking he could trick his body into a release he sped up, thrusting more firmer into her, almost violently. Clara seemed not to mind, every move she commented with a gasp and a filthy moan and then she came. He could feel her muscles clench around his member and she cried out, biting her own arm, to keep the promise of not talking. He wanted to stop, but couldn’t and simply fucked her through her orgasm, hoping to follow her soon, what was not happening. Frustrated, he started to believe something was wrong with him. 

When the stars her climax had produced, vanished from before her eyes, and the dizzy feeling faded, she realized he had stopped, but she couldn’t remember him coming. For a moment she didn’t understood what the reason could be, but then it dawned on her that something was missing for him. The last kick, the last bit to tear him apart. So she started to move again. Slowly, and when she felt, he didn’t make her stop she moved her hip forward, till his cock almost glided out of her. 

He watched her moving, watched her move forward and hold still for a few seconds and when he believed she would end the game, she pressed against him. A long moan escaped his mouth, while he watched his cock slid into her and when she did it again, he understood. Her intentions and himself, why there was no climax for him yet. 

Very slowly she moved back and forth, clenching her muscles to give him good friction, to make the narrow space even tighter. She didn’t look around for him, she only listened to his breathing, his gasps and felt how his hands caressed her bottom and the small of her back. 

He enjoyed her moves, he couldn’t deny it. He had fallen for her, for her beauty and for her cleverness and the way she seemed to understand him. The way she made him take her, ignited a new fire inside of him. 

Richelieu found pleasure in ordering her around, making her obey, but in the end, he needed something else from her, he needed her to rule him for the last part and he ignored the trained voice in his head that warned him from something that would danger his independence and his status of power. 

When she would went on like this, he knew he would come, and that he didn’t wanted to, not like this, “Wait,” he gently kept her still, “please,” and when she looked over her shoulder Clara could see a man that was not the Cardinal. His posture was no more demanding, and his eyes were not ordering but pleading and his touches all at once caring and gentle. 

He stepped away from her, holding out his hand, and she took it, and then he leaned down, all hesitating and then kissed her hard. There was still fierceness in his kiss, still a demand, but a demand that was allowed by her. 

Armand pressed her back into the sheets, and crawled over her, without breaking the kiss, and after he had straddled her hip, he pushed two fingers inside of her and Clara moaned into his mouth. They broke the kiss in need for air, their foreheads pressed together, eyes locked and Clara gasped at him with half open mouth, while his fingers pleasured her. 

“Do you like it?” she whispered. “Do you like to play with me?”

He smiled under all the shivers, all the lust that worked vigorously through his body, “You are no one to play with, Clara.”

For a second her heart stopped beating when she heard him say her name, in a voice that was dark and low and the “R” in her named vibrated in her whole body. Armand saw the reaction to using her Christian name and his smile grew a little wider, before leaning forward to kiss her again, his fingers now replaced by his hard length. 

And so he slowly pushed them both over the edge, kissing her, caresing her body with hands and his lips. Nibbling at the crook of her neck, till she gasped his name over and over again, and he sped up, pushing harder into her, and knew this time he would follow her within a few seconds. Her name on his lips, and he didn’t care, he didn’t think, because it was something new, something wonderful and either he would give in or he would die over denying it. 

God, he had fallen for this woman, and he knew this never would end well. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned before, this thing has now a subplot aside all the sex. How that happened? How this whole fic happened? I can't tell, I don't know where the words come from(google?).  
> Next chapter.. probably soon.


	5. 05_We both know who I am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After finding himself falling for her, what will Armand do? Shake it off and be the Cardinal again? Of course he will (try), but he has made the reckoning without Clara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a shorter chapter but goes the same way as the others, so there should be no disappointment. ;)

He had thought about leaving home after they had fallen side by side onto the bed, fully exhausted, although he knew, he wouldn’t get any sleep if he did, because it would take over an hour to get there, and to get ready for bed, and then the night would have been over. Still musing if or if not, he fell asleep, aside from Clara.

She watched him for a while, like his chest rose and fell with deep and even breaths. He had only covered his hip with a sheet, and so she had the chance to admire the lean figure of his, the fine defined body. It was rare that man in his age looked that good, she was aware of this. By his ribcage was a long scar, and she wondered where he had collected it. It seemed, he had it already for quite a while. 

For once he looked peaceful, and his face was relaxed - all the burden of his position and all the pain that came with it, had let go of him in this moment, and when she wouldn’t know it, she never would have guessed, that this man was a Cardinal - France’s secret leader. 

For a moment her hand hovered over his chest, tempted to touch him, but she was afraid he would wake up again, and she knew he needed rest after the long journey and their activities, and so she only laid another sheet over him and herself and fell asleep.

#

She couldn’t say for how long they had slept when she woke up, because something in the bed shifted and silent rustling reached her ear. The sun was just about to rise. Clara felt her arms being sore, thanks to the Cardinal and when she turned around she found the place aside her empty and him moving around in the bathroom.

He needed to go home, get something to eat before meeting up with the King and the Queen at noon. After having spent so long in Le Havre he knew there was a lot of paperwork to do and things to handle, that had waited for his return. 

When he left the bathroom, already in his trousers and his shirt, he saw that Clara had woken up. He had hoped, he could slip away before she did, to avoid delay and awkward talking, because he had no time for this, and when he was honest, he didn’t know how it worked anyway. He had never stayed overnight before, at least not with one of his mistress’s. And there the question was, if he could still see her as a mistress, or if she already had become something else to him. 

No, he had no time for this.

Clara watched him, how he gathered up his clothes and his leather jacket, all in silence and not appreciating her for one second. It seemed the private person Armand had been replaced by Cardinal Richelieu all to quick. She sensed he wouldn’t say anything, when she wouldn’t make him talk, he would get dressed and leave without a word, and then the chance was big she really never heard from him again.

“So this is it then?” she began, shifting around on the bed, the sheets slipping down, revealing her upper body and when he looked up, he stilled for a second over the sight. Clara saw him shudder before he shook himself out of an upcoming delirium. “The morning after, when you fall back into your roll, ignoring me.”

Richelieu made a growling noise, his eyes glaring at her, while closing all the buttons of his jacket. He had a tactic for a lot of things, for an impatient Ambassador, for an bellicose Monarch and disloyal servants, there he knew what to do. As it seemed, when it came to Clara, his only tactic was to keep silent. 

“Am I being your toy again?” she gave him a smoulder, mixed with indifferent. She wouldn’t play the young, callow girl, who would look up to him all in awe and as if he was some sort of god. “Cardinal Richelieu.”

That was his weak point, her, using his official title and he needed to find out why that was so, “We both know who I am,” and with the words, he placed the golden cross around his neck again. 

“We both know who _I_ am,” she shrugged, knowing, to compare him with her would get her an reaction. 

“That’s procacity!” he snapped, holding out a finger to her. 

“Is it?” Clara chuckled. “So you are better than me? You probably are,” she rested her head on her arm. “As a clergyman, high in rank and the left hand of the King and all so powerful. Yes, you are. As I am only a mistress, a woman, with an English name, selling her body. On the other side,” she smirked devious, “I did my job last night, and what did you? I am sure there is a commandment of chastity somewhere.”

That made him almost burst with anger, “You are…!” no one ever had made him speechless with such impudence, attacking his sacrosanct clerical being. 

“Calling me a wench again?” Clara rolled her eyes. “Well, I got news for you, that’s what I am. It’s not nice, but it’s what I am, isn’t it?”

Armand felt his body tremble in anger, and he also felt that under all the rage he had for her, his admiration for her grew stronger, “I don’t have time for this!” he hissed. “You are lucky, that I am pleased with your services, if not, you would find yourself on the street, right now! And then let’s see how people will deal with you!” 

He walked over to his cloak, that hang over the armchair, and yanked it from the backrest so hard, that the stool fell over. 

Clara had him almost where she wanted him, and smiled over his outburst. Not that his threats were fake, she knew if she pushed him too far, he could take care of her in very unpleasant ways. The relationship they started to maintain, was all too fresh to rely on a good framework of trust. 

“No time? Aren’t you the most powerful man in France? Shouldn’t Cardinal Richelieu be in control over his own time?” she saw him get red in anger, before turning over, away from him. “As it seems, he isn’t.”

Enough was enough, and he was on the bed in a second, turning her over, straddling her hip, the sheet only covering her sex. He grabbed her hands and brought them over her head, and held them rough together. 

“Nothing! Is beyond my control!” he growled, his cross laying on her breasts and Clara knew she dealt not with a man but a fierce wolf right now, whose fervour was about to wake up. 

“Pleasure me!” she ordered and earned a puzzled look, followed by by a chuckle. 

“Have you forgotten, who is laying on her back here?” he tightened his grip for a second, pushing her hands into the mattress, knowing it would hurt. She winced, but she was not afraid of him, not impressed and it angered him even more, and also brought his loins to life. 

“Pleasure. Me.” 

He covered her mouth with a raging force, slipping his tongue into her mouth, pressing his body against her, knowing the heavy, harsh leather wouldn’t feel all too comfortable on her soft skin, while kissing her was all he wanted and needed. 

When his first need was stilled, he let go of her hands and slid between her legs, and began to lick hard over her entrance and her clit. Clara groaned out loud over the force he put into his task, and her hands landed in his hair. 

Armand decided to let her pay for her teasing, and to reward her at the same time. He spread her entrance with his fingers, and dug his tongue into her cunt. The taste of her was sweet and seducing, and she smelled young and fresh to him, and when he felt her fingers in his short curls trying him to urge him to a certain spot he placed his mouth over her clit and sucked hard. It made her cry out loud, and she arched her back, and so he did it again, pressing his tongue against the little nub, circling it. He literally ravished her wet cunt. 

He shoved her legs over his shoulders, embracing her upper thighs and pushing her into his face and soon Clara began to ride his face shamelessly, joining his rhythm, the room filled with filthy moans of both of them. Every gasp spurred him on to find the right spot, the right rhythm, the one rhythm that would make the oncoming climax rise to the highest possible peak before all the waves of pleasure would collapse over her. 

Hard himself, he found himself rocking against the mattress, to give his cock a bit of pleasure before it would probably burst. It would have been easy to open his breeches and to take her, but she had ordered him differently and right now, he couldn’t make himself break away from her delicious sex, knowing he was able to make her come any minute. His release was not important for him, not in this moment. 

When he felt she was close enough, he slowed down, and Clara uttered inaudible words of frustration. “What do you want?” he asked with a hoarse voice.

“Make me come!” 

He slipped his long middle finger inside of her and her answer was a tug of his hair, pushing him down, so he would complete the maddening feeling with his tongue. 

“You taste so good, dear,” he breathed against her, licking her playfully. His missing effort made her almost lose her mind. “I could do this all day long, keep you on the edge - forever!” He added another finger and curled them inside, fucking her sweet spot and circling her clit with the tip of his tongue. 

_‘Fuck!’_ was all what Clara could think. _‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’_ She wanted to come so badly and yet his offer was like he had offered her the gates of heaven or at least the keys to his private chambers. Her breath was ragged, her heart hammering against the inside of her chest - no, she could not _not_ release. Fearing she would die over a heart attack or a cramp in all her body, when she wouldn’t. 

“We don’t have time for this!” was all she could press out under her gasps, and Armand pushed his fingers hard and fast into her, licking her out. Licking every drop of her, till her body began to shudder and she needed to press the back of her head into the pillow, her mouth wide open a howl escaped her. Richelieu sucked her seamen onto his tongue, like it was a good wine, groaning into her lap, slowing the speed with the fading climax. 

When she breathed again, he slipped his fingers out of her, placing a last kiss on her sex, and trailed a wet path from her pubic hair up to the spot between her breasts. 

Clara shivered when his tongue and mouth made his way up to her, licking and kissing her over-sensitive skin. Her chest and face was all red, and he smirked over how she looked in her afterglow. Her brown eyes wandered over his face and his amused expression and he knew how he maybe looked, all smeary and with red lips. His lips lingered by hers, so close that she felt his breath on her mouth and she wondered how he would react when she would kiss him. Not wild and passionate but tender, and before she came to an conclusion with herself, he had read her mind, “Taste yourself.” 

Without questioning him, she shot up with her face, and pressed her lips against his, sucking at his upper lip, his moustache tickling her skin. Clara kept her eyes open and so did Armand, and while she started to kiss her flavour gently from his lips he didn’t move at first, but then when she wanted to get away from him again, guessing it was one step too far, he cupped her face and pulled her into another tender kiss. 

He must be possessed, he thought, to do such thing. By what? The devil? The devil surely didn’t kissed like this. The solution must be also more simpler, more natural, he mused on, while his eyes fell shut, kissing the woman under him leisurely with something one could call almost fondness or affection. 

“You should go now,” Clara broke away, feeling her heart not beat in exhaustion, but in closeness to him. “Before Treville shows up again.”

“Yes,” he breathed and moved from the bed, putting his cloak finally around his neck. Then he stepped into the bathroom to wash his face with a cloth and to check his gear for a correct fit. 

Clara fell back into the sheets, staring at the ceiling, one hand on her chest, feeling her heart out at first, then her fingertips landed on her lips. The echo of his kisses still alive. How had that happened? There was a policy in her trade; never to feel close to the man you sleep with or even fall in love with him. God, she knew, she was so rubbish with this rule. 

He stepped out of the bathroom and eyed her with a worried look before he shook his head and set on a stern and more statesmanlike expression. His mouth opened, but he didn’t know what to say, and so he crossed the room, ready to leave, when she stopped him, “When will I see you again?”

When he turned around his cloak made a dramatic swing, “You’ll see me, when you’ll see me.”

Clara made a smacking sound with her mouth, “And when is this?”

He was about to grumble and frowned at her, “Soon,” with that, his expression softened for only a second, with a smile and then he was out of the door again. 

Richelieu was sure he was possessed. Not by a devil or a demon - but by her. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we step deeper into Clara's and Armand's relationship. I have an idea for an end but for now I probably will push their relationship further on.  
> I hope you still enjoy this story. Leave a comment in case you do! Thanks!


	6. 06_Giving in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power play evolves. (Please check tags, I added some warnings)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, first of all, thanks for your response. To write this was really not the plan but this story has developed its own life and I only put word after word in a line hoping to serve the story to get better. 
> 
> I just wanted to write some e-content and now I believe I am writing a flippin' love story here. The relationship evolves in this chapter once more and I am not sure if I was able to deal with it while staying true to the characters. The Cardinal is a complicated figure. Check notes for further thoughts about that topic.

Days passed, without Clara hearing from him. Through their last meeting she had grown the confidence, that he would get in contact with her, and knew he had simply much to do. In the end he was not just anyone. It didn’t help that she found herself missing his hands on her, his mouth, their banter and the hencing power play that developed out of it.

And then she became “unavailable” and sent out a note to him, and expected him not to show up, because he is a man, and man are strange in this case.

So the next day she ran some errands for a few hours and when she returned into her chambers, she found her room covered in flowers. On the tables, aside the bed and on the armchairs. They are lilacs, tulips and roses, and she stood there gaping at the wide colour range that now lid up her room.

“What…,” she walked to her dressing table, taking a bunch of lilacs in her hand to smell them.

“If I had known, it is so easy to keep you quiet,” it was Armand, coming out of the bathroom, “I had brought you flowers on our first meeting.”

He stood by the door frame, his cloak over his arm, with an emotionless expression, and if she wouldn’t knew him so well by now, she would have been unsure what to do. She jumped slightly and a wide smile appeared on her face, before she couldn’t hold herself back and run over to him, the flowers still in her hand. Quickly she went on her tip toes, and pressed a chaste kiss on his lips, before becoming aware, that she shouldn’t be so overwhelmed by him, at least she shouldn’t show him. “Shut up!”

His cheeks got red, over her excitement, and he was flustered over her kiss, but kept the distance in his posture while his eyes fell to the ground, with a smirk and pursed lips. The short outburst of her was worth the almost impossible reschedule of his appointments for the day.

“I don’t believe these are all from you,” she stood by the window, taking in some beautiful roses, throwing him a look over her shoulders. She couldn’t remember when was the last time someone had sent her flowers - maybe because no one ever had.

The Cardinal cocked an eyebrow at her, stepping behind her to reach around her to brush his thumb over the blooms, “Why not?”

Clara smirked, what he couldn’t see and tried to ignore him standing so close behind her, “It not seems like something Cardinal Richelieu would do.”

His eyes wandered over her neck, and he couldn’t resist to push away a strand of hair, his fingertips caressing her skin while doing it, “Indeed, it’s nothing the Cardinal would do, but”, he smirked, taking in her faint reflection in the window, to find courage in her sight, “something Armand Jean du Plessis would do.”

That made her heart skip a beat and she whirled around, and faced a man that indeed was not a Cardinal for a moment, but a man, all taken by her. She wanted to kiss him, tell him, that she had missed him so much, that it almost hurt and that she desired him in ways she couldn’t explain. Instead of doing it, she lowered her head, and flitted away from him, “You shouldn’t have come. Didn’t you get my message?” For some stupid reason she felt, she needed to point it out, because he still sent money and so he still could demand accountability.

He followed her with his look, leaning against the sil, his hands playing around with a tulip, “Yes, I did,” he began and Clara could see that his eyes darken for a moment. She waited for him to go on, because she could sense there should be more, but after half a minute she guessed she was wrong or his courage had left him again.

“Oh,” is therefore all she could say. There was something in the room, and they probably both didn’t know how to deal with it.

Richelieu placed the tulip aside and stepped closer, “You know I hate this. Speak up!”

“Do you come because of me or because of my services?” she then spoke out annoyed and as if she wanted to convince herself, that she of course knew the answer.

“Haven’t I sent you flowers?” he said gently, feeling her concerns. “Now keep your mouth shut, and make your hands useful!”

The glare she gave him, made him lean back slightly. She had already enough of him, and wanted to tell him, he could take his damn flowers and get lost.

It happened not often, that he could see through her, and so he enjoyed the moment almost too long before he moved his cloak, and said, “My shoulders. Make your hands useful on my shoulders.”

He looked around and grabbed for the only stool in the room, that wasn’t occupied by flowers and placed it in the middle of the room, before sitting down.

Clara huffed, she hated when she fell for something like this, “Take of the jacket. You shouldn’t wear it all the time, with the heavy cloak it tears at your back, and makes it hurt.”

He took of the gear and she placed it for him on her bed, “I know, but I like the cloak,” he snickered. “It gives my entrance a dramatic effect, don’t you think?”

She only rolled her eyes over him and started to dug her fingers into his hard muscles. He groaned in pain, this time Clara didn’t stopped, just went on, enjoying him wince and growl under her. “Why did you come?” she then asked after a minute, “Is there not much to do for you, after your absence?”

“Yes, there is,” his eyes were closed, and his head hung forward, slowly relaxing into her touch. “France will probably fall, and it is your fault.”

As answer she grasped his muscles harder, and he backed forward with a cry of pain and a laugh that made her smile.

More minutes went by and soon she felt his muscles get soft again, and when she ended the massage with making circles up the back of his head, he was purring like a cat.

She used the moment to push the topic that lingered in the room forward, “You haven’t answered my question, actually.”

“What question?” of course he knew, but he didn’t wanted to answer. It was all too complicated and too delicate in his opinion.

“When you are all so busy, why are you here then?”

One hand of his rose and signalled her to stop. The hand hovered in the air, and she watched him slightly shift. A smacking sound came from his lips, she couldn’t see, and she knew this was a warning, before he would snap - and that he would.

He had made time for her. He had brought her flowers, a whole room full. And the only thing she went for, was to urge him to make an recognition of her person. As what? It was impossible.

One thing Richelieu disliked, was when someone tried to push him into something. A weak agreement. A spurious peace. Or weasel words from people who tried to convince him, they were faithful minions. All this fitted of course into his life as politician, and not in his life that had developed since he had chosen Clara. It was hard to separate, to realize that a woman who wanted to know where she stood was something else as a traitor to king and country. Armand had to learn, and that would be a complicated and hurtful path to go to, for both of them.

“Armand?” Clara stepped around him, after he had kept silent, only brooding for himself.

He snapped out of his thoughts and stared at her with wild eyes, thin lips and a grave expression, “I don’t pay you for asking questions!”

The slap that hit the left side of his face, was so fast performed and came out of nowhere, that the pain was the only thing that convinced him, that Clara really had slapped him - hard. They both stared at each other bewildered. Clara couldn’t believe he had said it, and more, she couldn’t believe she had slapped his face. Her hand burned from the force she had used, and his cheek reddened in seconds. Speechless he saw up to her, and Clara started to blink, find back out of the daze of anger his comment had dragged her. Aware that her reaction was one step too much, she took one little step away from him, her mouth covered by her hand in horror about what now probably would come.

His mind was blank, everything he had wanted to say to her, was literally blown out of his head, and when the pain slowly seeped into the rest of his body, it made every inch of him tingle. Her reaction made him aware how he should have reacted in this moment, how he would have reacted when he would have been with someone else, but instead of standing up and throw her against the next wall, he interrupted her stumbled apology, with a hoarse voice “-Do it again.”

Clara whirled around, unsure if she had heard right, “What?”

Armand hadn’t the strength to repeat it, and so instead of saying something or jumping up, he slowly leaned back into the rest, and his arms dropped to his sides. Clara saw he made a statement, and an offer.

She observed him, and then inhaled a deep breath of air, like it was pure realization, “You liked that, didn’t you?” she gathered finally, her voice low. A minute ago he was the one who owned the room, and now it was her. How did this even work?

His answer was to look away, first with his eyes, then with his face, with something Clara only could see as a touch of stubbornness and the try to keep a wisp of fortitude. And then there was something else, the way his shoulders tensed and his chest rose under silent but deep breathes - apprehension.

For a moment Clara was not sure if she wanted to play this game and this role, it was not hers to hurt someone on purpose. On the other side, did she really hurt him? Wasn’t the pain something he seemed to seek from her. Her hand rose without her consent, and her fingers wavered in the air, and then Armand made eye contact with her, only a few seconds, seeing that she wasn’t sure about this. And then he did something, Clara took as clear consent and the most powerful gesture in their relationship. He tilted his head slowly and stretched his neck, presenting her his cheek. His mouth slightly open, his lower lip trembling.

It was all she needed. Her mouth twitched, when she stepped forward again, and placed two fingers under his chin, to make him face her, “I asked you something,” the next blow was more controlled, not as hard as the first one, that had been pure impetuousness, also enough to make him gasp in pain and pleasure.

Richelieu’s head vibrated when he brought his face back from the right to the middle again, fixed on her to await her next question, or the next strike.

Clara saw her hand imprinted on his cheek and the sight of it spread a warm feeling through her.

“Now we know, don’t we? Why you come here.”

Her hand reached out for his cheek and he flinched away at first, but she smiled gently at him, before settling her palm softly onto the hurt flesh, caressing it. While Armand leant into the touch of hers, his eyes fell shut, “Yes.”

Her thumb brushed over his mouth, and he opened it for her, cupping her finger with his lips and teeth to lick over it. She allowed him a few moments, then she she patted his cheek, and ordered, “Close your eyes! And don’t move.”

She then walked to her dressing table, and took a silk scarf from there and stepped behind him, to place one hand on the back of his neck only to shove her hand firm into his hair, making his head tilt forward.

Richelieu gasped, and when she yanked his head back to her, by tugging hard at his hair, he gasped even louder and his mouth hung open. He was at her mercy. It was something new to him, and he not only liked it, he loved it.

Then the scarf landed around his throat, the ends held in her hands, she slid the fabric gently over his Adam’s apple, and when first concern hit him, she took the scarf away again, and he felt that she tied his wrists together - behind his back. A second first, and he couldn’t do anything about it, so mesmerized he was by her doing.

Clara took care the scarf was firm around his wrists, it would hold a struggle, she was sure wouldn’t happen. While he would be able to rip the fabric apart when he wanted to. She came to his front again and settled herself into his lap, a smug smile on her lips.

“The question you have to ask yourself is,” she traced his lips with one finger, “if I do this because you pay me, or because I like to do it.” He dared to dart out his tongue, and earned another slap from her, this time it was more a smack, also it didn’t failed in its effect - another warm wave in his body. “Both possibilities are somehow very,” she leaned forward till her lips almost touched his,”very naughty.”

Armand leaned forward and tried to capture her mouth, his hands tearing at the cord, but Clara was quicker and leaned back with his motions only to bite his lower lip then.

“You enjoy this yourself, don’t you?” he licked his lip, unsure if he was bleeding or not. It was a knowing smile he gave her. No, Clara never had such power over a man before. Like the Cardinal never had offered so much power over himself to anyone.

For both of them it was something they didn’t knew they needed, till they first experienced it. Giving away the control, what would have been fatal in his life as politician and Cardinal, but in the safe walls of her home, it was relieving and arousing. While Clara could escape the role, the society had given her. She didn’t do this for the money, she did it because it was the same to her as to him - arousing.

Clara slipped from his lap between his feet. “Tell me about your scar here,” she opened all the laces of his shirt and tucked it down to uncover the scar she had seen earlier on his ribcage, her fingers trailing over the old wound.

“When I was 22 I got into a fight,” he explained, amused over the old memory.

Clara leaned in, covering the scar with her mouth, and to keep the balance, her hands landed close to his middle on his upper thighs, “Sounds adventures.” Her tongue licked over the spot and Richelieu gasped.

“It probably was. Another man hadn’t been fond of my opinion and had pulled out a dagger,” he told her, holding his breath, while she kissed her way up to one of his nipples.

“Was it about a girl?” her tongue flicked over the hard flesh and he groaned.

“No, it wasn’t.”

“A boy, then?” she nibbled her way down again, her hands casually undoing the laces of his breeches.

“No!” he called out in protest, feeling her hands tug at his trousers and it made him shudder.

She glanced up to him, smirking, “What was it then?” and her hand slipped into his breeches and cupped his half hard member and his testicles in one good grab and brought them out.

For a moment he lost his ability to speak and only stared at her, so she tugged at his balls, and made him jerk, “What was it then?”

“Politics.”

Clara stopped, looking at him staggered, then she shook her head as if she wanted to say, that she should have gotten to this conclusion herself. She then turned her attention to his cock, on hand around it, she stroke his skin down. Armands hips jolted up, and he had a hard time to keep his eyes open.

“I like your cock,” she then said, stroking up again.

“That’s nice to know,” he chuckled, not questioning her motives.

“Have you really never slept with a man?” she had a plan, and she enjoyed how he shifted under her touch, caught between pleasure and the unesthetic thoughts her question produced in his head. He didn’t answer her. “How about Treville?”

His eyes flung open and he met a mischievously smiling Clara, slowly stroking him, “Treville, the Captain of the Musketeers.” To underline her words, she liked from the base of his cock to the tip of it, and Richelieu moaned under the sensation.

“I know that,” his voice high-pitched. “What do you have with Treville anyway?”

Her thumb trailed over the tip of his erection, “He is a fine looking soldier,” her hand stroked down again, and when Armand thought the topic was done, she added, “I like soldiers.”

That brought a flare of anger to life in him, and he tore at the cord once more, “Are you trying to make me jealous?”

The grip around his cock became tighter, “Could I? Could I make you jealous by asking Treville if he would like to fuck me?”

His nostrils swelled under her hard strokes and the unpleasant picture of Clara get fucked by the Captain of the Musketeers. “I’d make him executed and-”

She sucked him deep into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the pulsing flesh. Such power, and it tasted deliciously. Coming up again, she released him with a plopping sound, “And?”

“You are a devil!”

“Mh,” she laughed. “Maybe I am.” She stroke him gently without putting much effort into it, knowing it would stretch his patience. He hadn’t released the last time and she guessed he hadn’t touched himself since.

“You are mine,” he then uttered, unable to ask her if she really would go to Treville, if she really thought Treville was an option. God, how ordinary he was, being jealous and all that. Shouldn’t he stand above all that, as a Cardinal?

Clara smiled, “And yours alone.”

She took him in again, and this time she pumped him long and hard, tasting and teasing his member with her tongue. Sucking him in deep, twisting the skin while stroking him till he moaned and gasped and started to buck his hip into her mouth.

“God…,” it fell from his lips, and he wished she would take of the scarf, so he could entangle his hands in her hair to guide her down. Alone the thought of it made him release a bit of pre cum.

Instead the only thing he could do, was watch her head pop up and down and soon he felt his climax come to a dangerous high. “Clara…”

She could taste his semen already, and it was almost intoxicating for her. Hearing his uttered warning, she pressed her lips hard around the tip of his cock and slid down with all the force she had in her lips and tongue making it tight for him, squeezing his testicles at the same time, and then she felt them tense and his warm, slightly bitter juice spilled into her mouth.

Armand cried out, his hands gripping the backrest of the chair, while she sucked every drop of him into her mouth. He panted as if he had run a mile, and the muscles of his stomach hurt and he pleaded her to stop.

She gently let go of him, and sat herself back onto one of his upper thighs, casually wiping of her mouth with the back of her thumb. It was the most naughty thing he had ever seen, and his patience eloped suddenly and he ripped the scarf in two, only to cup her face and to pull her in into a hard, passionate kiss. He moaned over the taste of himself in her mouth, feeling his softening cock twitch. If he would have been still a young man, he would have been ready again for her in minutes, but as she was hindered anyway he could spare them the dilemma.

“That was my favourite scarf,” she protested when he broke away. It earned her another deep kiss.

“Oh, I buy you a new one. I buy you all you want, you know that, don’t you?” he kissed her neck, nibbling at the youthful flesh of hers, in need to reward her for her actions.

“I love you, _you know_ that, don’t you?” was her answer, and not only the Cardinal was taken off guard from the confession. He leaned back, facing her, and there it was again, the one expression she couldn’t read. So she freed herself from his softening grip and hopped from his lap.

It was true, what was there to lie about? Richelieu saw her walking over to the window, to shove a vase of flowers senseless around, then he stood up and tucked his member away, and tied the laces of his shirt again.

“I don’t expect you to appreciate it,” Clara then said, looking down to the street. “And I don’t expect you to .. to react in any positive form to it. Everything is the same,” she turned around, seeing him standing a meter away from her. She thought by now he would have started to get back on his gear, instead he looked at her with a blank face, listening to what she was saying. “Just don’t be angry with me. I don’t make claims. I am at your service any time you want, I just couldn’t deny it anymore.”

Armand huffed, not angry, not happily, but knowing her confession would have an impact on him, if he wanted or not, and it would have an impact on their relationship, “I am a Cardinal, Clara. Haven’t you heard of me? I did bad things, to become what I am, a leader of France and you really shouldn’t have feelings for me.”

“So you say, you are a monster?”

“Some would title me this, yes,” he reached for his jacket and took it on, but not closing the buttons. “I think you should over think your feelings for me. I am sure they are just…”

“They are not made out of a childish idea!” Clara snapped, walking over to the bed, to take his cloak in her hands. “I am not 16 anymore.”

He took the cloak from her, closed the buttons of his jacket and ruffled his hair. Then he suddenly started to smile at her, and Clara didn’t know if it was his way of mocking her, of playing with her once more for the day. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because you are impossible, because this is impossible,” he wavered his hands between her and him. “And I decided, I give a damn about it,” he smirked, and took his golden cross from his neck and held it out to her.

“What are you doing?” she slowly rose her hand and he placed it into her open palm.

“This is me,” what a stupid but good thing to do, “giving in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have outlined this chapter more, I think, but I have no plan of writing a book here and also I could easily give them two or three more chapters of battling with their feelings for each other. But to quote the Cardinal here, "I don't have time for this!" and so I pushed them a bit further and so I might not stay true to Armand's character. Is this already OC? I can't tell. One can expand a story to no end, when wanted. I hope I still portray him as the strong character he is, while portraying him as a man in love what makes him more human and it is of course a way, that is not portrayed anywhere. Tell me what you think!  
> Thanks for the read!!!


	7. 07_I'll do everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armand has given in, how will this affect their relationship?  
> Set directly after the moment Armand has given her the cross in Chapter 6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we already in Chapter 7, how did that even happen? I can't tell.  
> And as I got a comment about historical accuracy, no this is not historical accurate and I don't claim it. I have no clue about the real Richelieu.  
> In this chapter I mention the king - Louise - and say that he likes hunting. I thought I have heard or seen that in the show somewhere.  
> For everything else, slight plot development with the usual activities. And I am not sorry, but not only Clara has a soft spot for Treville, me too.

 

“This is not a promise!” Armand rose one finger, aware that it must look like a threat. Old habits die hard, and so he quickly lowered it again. “I am a busy man, aside all the time I have invested here. My priorities are still France, the king and the church, and after many other things, you can feel lucky, when you’ll find yourself on the list.” 

Naturally, she knew all this before. A Cardinal, one of the highest ranks the church offered, and he would do nothing that would bring his position in danger, and would drive him away from the side of the king, where he was able to form the borders of France and it’s worth in the world. Should he ever be feel something like love for her, she knew, that the country of France would be always his first love. Only one but him, would get into a fight about politics and wear the resulting scar like a metal for defending the country he loved so much. 

There was affection for her, she saw that in his eyes, she felt it in his touches, but if he had to choose, Clara would not be his choice. When she was able to accept that, they would get along in their relationship very good. As long she wouldn’t make him chose between king and country and her, he would try to please her as good as he could and wanted. 

“What is it then?” she palpated the golden cross, a fine piece of jewellery and worth not only money. 

Armand placed the cloak over his arm, watching her with the cross, “I don’t know.” How could he tell? He hadn’t made a plan yet what he should do with her, now he had offered her his… his attention. However, he would in the next few days. 

“I have to go now, keep care of the cross,” he pointed out once more. “Don’t let it see anyone outside the palace.”

“What do you mean, outside the palace?” she followed him to the door.

“You’ll see,” was the only thing he said, and left her house to drive back to the palace. 

From there on Clara wore the cross around her neck, hiding it in her neckline. With the passing days, she became more confident that it had been right to tell him about her feelings. She loved him. She loved what they had, knowing that it was uncommon and unholy from start to end. It was not that she loved him like a young, naive girl with unrealistic expectations. She never had expected, that he would put her first in line, and so there was no disappointment in his statement that she came only after a long list of other priorities. Also it pleased her that she found herself on the list, because she guessed the list was mostly filled with work entitled subjects and she surely was no work for him. Clara was independent, always had been, and it was unusual for these days and if she would had have other parents (her own death since a few years), they would have put her into a convent long ago. So, she had went right the other way. 

After five days, she opened the door to find the messenger in front of it, and she was delighted to know that Armand was about to spend her a visit. So she told the man, he could go to tell his master that she was home.

“The Cardinal has ordered me to take you to the palace,” the man only said and Clara forgot to answer over it, because that was the least she had expected, so the man repeated, “The Cardinal wants to see you at the palace. Now.”

“Now?”

“Gather what you need for the day, mademoiselle. I’ll wait outside,” with that the man turned his back on her and Clara closed the door again. The Palace? She couldn’t stop herself from jumping up a bit and ran to gather what she needed and also quickly changed her dress. 

The man brought her to a carriage outside the house and then they drove off to the palace, where Richelieu had his work place and also his private chambers. She never had been within the walls of the royal palace and was excited and looked curiously outside the window. 

The man opened up the door for her and lead her inside, into a large room that seemed to be a library. Everything was so noble and decorated with pictures and carpets. Clara was almost a bit in awe.

“What now?” Clara turned toward the man after she had taken in the place.

“I’ll go and tell the Cardinal that you are here, please wait here,” the man bowed slightly and left her alone in the big room, only to return after ten minutes. “The Cardinal is momentarily unavailable, he told me, he will join you later. So long you are free to move inside the range of his chambers. You can go to take a walk in his private gardens, enjoy the library or take a rest in his private chambers.”

“Did he say how long he will be unavailable?” Clara asked, trying to hide the disappointment. 

“No,” was the short answer. 

“Then I would like to refresh myself and take a short rest before going for a walk in the garden, yes?”

“What ever you like, mademoiselle,” the soldier bowed once more and showed her the way to Richelieu's private chambers. The man didn’t leave her for the rest of the day, but stayed in the distance, and when she refreshed herself in Armand’s private area, he stayed outside the door, knowing well his Lord wouldn’t be pleased to invade his personal space. 

Clara took a long walk in the garden, admiring flowers and status before returning to the library where she started to read some books, but she couldn’t concentrate while she always hoped Armand would finally show up. After someone had brought her dinner, she decided to go back to his private chambers and to entertain herself there with another book and later to go to sleep.

#

When Richelieu entered his rooms, he found Clara sleeping in his bed. He had let brought her in, in the morning and had kept her waiting the whole day - not without being deliberate. Now it was almost eleven at night. He had been free since eight, but had decided to push his own patience and also hers to the limit, and had settled for some paperwork. His plan that she would be already asleep when he finally joined her had worked as well. He smirked and went to the a side room to undress himself and to slip into a nightgown. 

When he had sat with the king and the queen for lunch, Louise was talking about some hunting he wanted to do in the afternoon and some new dog and there Richelieu had zoomed out - unwillingly, having Clara’s scent suddenly on his tongue, and a picture of her kneeling between his legs, her head buried in his lap. 

“Cardinal Richelieu?” the voice of the queen had interrupted his mindplay and he came back to the table with a jolt of his head. “You seemed absent for a moment.”

It was to him as if the queen had a whimsically smile on her lips, as if she knew where his mind had wandered off for a moment. “It’s nothing, Milady. I just remembered something.”

“As I said,” the king went on, all ignorant, and only fixed on the hunting. While the queen, kept her gaze fixed on him, and he smiled politely before turning around to wave the servant over for more water. 

“She must be very beautiful or very clever, or both,” she later approached him in the garden and he did as if he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Your new girl, Cardinal. You are never absent over dinner, not that far away.”

“Milady?”

“It is no secret, that you have a mistress,” she smiled, shoving her arm under his, while Louise was a few meters ahead of them admiring some weapons for the hunt. “It’s nothing I care about, you know that.”

“Mh,” he stopped to face her. “Also you want to say what to me?”

“Don’t forget who you serve, Cardinal. Don’t fail because of a woman,” it was not a warning, more a reminder. 

“Milady,” he began, his voice stern and demanding. “I never forget who I serve. And I serve France, and only France, and I’m serving the King. Also I hope you know the position of the king can change, while France will stay - forever. But be sure, my loyalty is with you and the king.”

The queen smirked, and let go of his arm to follow her husband. 

#

Clara was deep asleep and didn’t move when he carefully settled aside from her in the bed. Her hair was open and she was only wearing a short, appealing chemise, lying on her side. 

Slowly he tugged away the blanket down her legs, and started - his head resting on one arm - to cares her legs with his fingertips. 

Soon she became aware of the endearments, but was still half asleep, murmuring inaudible words. 

“Clara,” Armand whispered, pressing a kiss on her shoulder, his fingertips making little circles on her upper thigh.

With a startle she jumped around, finding her lover smirking at her, “Armand!”

Before she could speak on, he silenced her with a kiss, but Clara - have been kept waiting all day - didn’t wanted to give in so easily, “You kept me waiting all day!”

“Of course I did!” he said smug, and as answer, she groaned in anger, and turned her back on him again. 

“You are impossible!”

He smirked and carried on with kissing her shoulders, and shoving the edges of her chemise up her thighs. After five days of not seeing her, he was in need for her and was sure that she wouldn’t resist him long. 

“Stop it!” she demanded, but didn’t turn around and only flinched with her shoulder slightly away. 

“If you want me to stop,” he tugged the fabric over her naked bottom, “you have to make me stop with a bit more than words.” He shifted and started to kiss her sides and her hipbone, down her bottom, while his hand massaged softly over her bum. 

Clara felt a prickle between her legs and a fast growing sensation in her tummy. Her answer was a long hum. He had won already and she was not in the mood to play, or to disobey, she just wanted him to have her. 

His hand shoved over the curve of her bottom toward her leg and pushed it forward to get easier access to her sex. His mouth kissing around her side over her stomach up to capture one of her breasts in his mouth, sucking at the soft, full flesh around it. When she moaned over his nibbling, he started to rub over her entrance, that soon was wet and slick under his teasing. 

Her hums became moans and soon she started moving into his touch. He turned her over, pleased she was all ready for him, and didn’t resist a second, but he had taken his time all day, so he would have a few more moments before making her his once more. 

He captured her mouth, sucking at her tongue in an ardent kiss, massaging her folds and clit till Clara was panting and moaning loudly under him, “Please, Armand…” he entered her with a finger and she bit her lips in satisfaction. 

“Please, Armand, what?” he bit her neck, while twisting one nipple in between his fingers.

“Please, Armand, take me! I want you!” 

He entered her with another finger and drove them into her, “If you are a good girl, I might will,” his voice was a growl, filled with lust and need. He knew he couldn’t hold back longer, and he would sleep with her if she would want it or not, there was no way back. Whatever he told her at this moment. “So tell me, little Clara, do you really believe the captain of the musketeers could fuck you as good as I will tonight?”

He lowered his tempo, slipping out his fingers, bringing them to her mouth to smear his juicy fingers over her lips. Her tongue flickered out, eager to suck his fingers free from her scent and he gave in, watching her twirl her skilful tongue around his long fingers. He could see the glint of mischief in her eyes, that she was about to take over, so he took his hand away and kissed her lips, licking her scent shamelessly off from her.

After it he began to circle her clit, sucking at her nipple so hard it must hurt, so she knew he wouldn’t stop till she had provided him an answer. 

“Speak, or I’ll make you suffer!” again he entered her with two fingers and she cried out. 

“You know I am yours,” she gasped and added when she found breath; “To hell with the captain of the musketeers!”

The answer made him smile and then he couldn’t go on in his teasing anymore and undressed himself, throwing the nightgown over his head down the floor. His solid erection pressed hard into the small of her back, when he turned her around again to spoon her. His cock in hand he stroke himself a few times, giving little gasps to it, before pulling Clara in by her waist. Without asking she put one leg over his hip and Armand started to grind his member between her folds at her entrance. 

Clara was a mess inside, all horny and greedy for him inside of her, but unable to do anything about it. There was no strength, she was all in his hands, all at his mercy and the only thing she could do was utter words of plea and make loud gasps to turn him on, to make his will for delay break. She purred like a cat.

“You are so deliciously naughty,” he growled into her ear. “I hope you know that. You are not only a sinner, little Clara, you are a sin for yourself!” he captured part of her neck and sucked hard, till he was sure he had left his mark on her. “And I think you need punishment!”

Alone the promise made her shudder, his one free hand covering her breast, rubbing with his thumb over hard flesh, and then finally he couldn’t bare it any longer, and pushed into her. They moaned in unison and for a moment they both held still, not moving, enjoying the moment of their merging since long days. Armand’s hands shoved over her upper body, to take off her nightgown, placing kisses on her neck, fondle her skin with his warm hands, his hips slowly giving her a rhythm. 

Every stroke of his was like a slosh of hot water over her body, every kiss and every touch like a prickling wildfire on her skin. She pressed into him, and he answered her with pulling her body against his chest, to feel every last inch of her, while gently fucking her. 

Clara turned her head, one hand around his neck, scratching him in her desire and so he lowered his face toward her and started kissing her. All the kissing, he had never liked and never done much, he now enjoyed and every time he felt her tongue teasing his, it made him want more and more of her. With a swift motion he shoved her away from him and then rolled on his back, and lifted her into his lap. Never not once breaking the fierce kiss.

For a second she didn’t know what had happened, and when she opened her eyes, she saw Armand cupping her face, his mouth half open, panting, “God Clara, I want you so much!” 

The truth was, he wanted her to rule him in the bedroom. It was his turn on, to play with her, to seduce her in the beginning, but when it came to the final act between them, he needed something else, and this, only she could give him. A demand, a sort of overpowering dominance, found in little gestures, little motions, a overweening smirk, a tug of his hair, the way she took hold of his cock, and delayed his climax with a slow agonizing stroke and when the moment was right a slap in the face. All this, and she did it in perfection, without even knowing it all. 

Clara had grown to like the rare moments when the man Armand broke out of Cardinal Richelieu, saying things like this, that he was in desperate need for her, and that he actually seemed to worship her and not only saw her as a distraction or expedient for his sexual desires.

Grabbing his hands by his wrists, to place them aside his head, she showed him she was in charge now, and also was steadying herself like this. She then lowered herself, without taking him in, captured his cock between her folds, building up friction, the tip of his member brushing against her clit sending waves of pleasure through her. 

Armand raised his head and watched his sex move under her, the pink tip striding back and forth and he tried to wiggle his way into her, but she quickly rose and looked at him with an arched eyebrow, “Don’t.”

“Clara,” he gasped, “I can’t…”

“Sure you can,” she lowered herself again, leaning forward licking his lips, sucking his tongue he darted out and enjoyed him under her, all submissive. “So, tell me Armand, how often have you thought about me today? How often have you thought naughtily about me today? And don’t lie!”

“All day!” he gasped, pushing up with his hips, as if telling her with it, that he had answered her question, and so was a good boy, and he now wanted a treat. 

Clara licked over his cheek, and then balanced herself to the tip of his cock, making him enter, but only for an inch, and then hovered over him, “Tell me what you have thought? Tell me about your fantasy,” she then took him in half the way, knowing it was a hard time for him, gathering his thoughts, while pleasure ravished through his body.

He closed his eyes, bringing back the pictures, he had all day, particular while the dinner with king and queen, “You came to my working chambers. I was doing paperwork,” now she lowered herself completely, biting her lips with a moan, “Oh god...I …you undressed yourself, making me look, and sat on my desk.”

Her hips came up again, agonizing slow, and then she lowered herself again in the same tempo, “And what did I do then?”

“You touched yourself, you let me look, and only look and I was so desperate to touch you!” he sputtered now out under his breath, quickly, hoping she would then let go of his wrists, so he could press her onto him. 

“And did you behave? And did I let you fuck me in the end?” she murmured, letting his cock once more slip out of her, to rub herself again, and Armand groaned in such frustration that she had almost pity with him. 

“Yes you did,” his climax had slowly built under his narrations, but he knew he only could come inside of her, and this she still denied him. 

“Would you like me to come to your chambers, to your desk, all naked? Touching myself?” 

He only nodded, to her question, “Please Clara, I do anything, but… I can’t anymore. Let me-”

“-Anything?” she teased surprised.

“I put France to your feet, when you want, just-”

She silenced him with a hard kiss, before he would say something he would regret later eventually, taking his cock inside of her and finally let go of his hands, “Fuck me, Armand, and you better leave your marks on me, or I’ll ask Treville to do it for you!” and then she started to ride him relentlessly.

As soon as she had let go of him, his hands gripped around her waist, digging his fingers hard into her, induced through her comment about Treville, he made sure he would leave marks on her. And if everyone would see this, he didn’t care. Clara was his, and his alone!

Both already on the edge came after short moments and at the same moment. Clara’s head flew back with a long filthy moan, her hair splaying all over face, her body fire and ice at the same moment, every fibre of her body screaming in agony and in pleasure when the gripping feeling in her stomach finally exploded and rushed through her body into every corner and tore her apart. 

Armand under her jolted one last time up, to come deep inside of her, with an ecstatic groan, feeling as if he was about to lose consciousness. One hand of his let go of her hip and he saw red spots on her skin, knowing they would turn blue and purple in the next few days. He then shoved his open palm over her stomach over her breasts, up to her face, spanning his hand around her neck, and brought her down to his lips. While he gave her one last passionate kiss for the night, he turned with her on her back, taking care she laid comfortable, when he separated from her. 

After two minutes Clara found words and breath again, turning her head over to him, who laid there, with a limp body, and when he felt her eyes on him, he started to chuckle. 

“What is so funny?”

He faced her, with a dirty look, and a lick of his lips, “You were so worth the wait!”

A grin built up her face and she beamed at him, rolling into his arms, and that was the spot she fell asleep. Armand followed her soon, after bringing a blanket over both of them, shoving some strands of hair out of her face, asking himself how this would end? 

Maybe the Queen was right, and he was about to fail because of a woman. He was well aware that he had promised her France in his ecstasy. An empty promise, a phrase, but Cardinal Richelieu was no one making empty promises - he knew himself all too well.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 is already in the doing, and actually this is one story I hope my children will not find one day!  
> I hope you still enjoy the story, next one will probably lead into the fantasy Richelieu had about Clara plus some stronger character/story development. It was actually not my intention to write more than 9 chapters, but we probably will crash this line. As long as we both have fun, I guess that's fine.


	8. 08_Stay with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richelieu makes Clara an offer she can't decline and while they enjoy themselves, they both fall deeper and deeper for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, I actually started googeling "how to write better sex scenes and orgasms" ... research is everything people!

The next day Armand woke up, with Clara rolled into his side, still deep asleep. He smiled at her and then looked out the window, it was time for him to stand up, so he gently shoved himself out of the bed and began to wash and dress himself. 

When he was about to put on his boots, Clara woke up, by searching with her left hand the empty spot aside her, “Armand?”

“Good morning,” he smirked and went to get his jacket. “I have to go, I have a early conference with the king and a mass to hold. 

Clara crawled out the bed, the bed sheet around her body, “Will one of your guards will bring me back to my place?”

“No,” he said coolly, closing the buttons of his jacket. 

Unsure how to react to it, she only nodded. Fine, she would manage to get home by herself. “Okay, then-”

“-Would you stay with me, at the palace, when I offer it to you?”

“Stay with you? I don’t understand.”

“You can have your own chambers here. I let bring your dresses and everything or you buy new ones, I don’t care,” he grabbed a dark, red, velvet cloak - Clara never had seen it before - and laid it around his shoulders. 

“Are you… are you offering me, to live with you here?”

Richelieu pursed his lips, in attempt to find some good, complicated answer of how this was nothing she should be to happy about, and that he was still a busy man, and probably never would have time for her, but in the end he only said, “Yes.”

Not that Clara was not utterly delighted, but when she looked at his offer in this first moments, she was concerned, “What will the people say?”

He shrugged, “What shall they say?”

“I don’t know. The Cardinal living with a woman?”

He chuckled, “We are not living together, Clara. They will think you are a pure soul searching for help from distant family, and I allowed you to stay, as I promised your father before he died. No one will question that.”

She made a surprised face, “So I play your distant, … niece, you are fond of like… a father and everything?” 

Armand couldn’t overhear the teasing sound in her voice, “And everything, yes. Of course, you can go back to your place and live there, it was just an idea.”

He did his best, to sound casual and indifferent, as if he gave nothing about her answer. He would definitely not show her his disappointment, when she would decline his offer. 

She thought about it for a moment, and then stepped up to him, “Am I allowed to call you Uncle then?” her finger trailed mischievously along the red toga he was wearing. 

He grabbed her face with one hand, and murmured; “You do it and you’ll pay for it.” He almost had moved the sheet she was wrapped in aside to admire her one last time before he had to went for work, but it wouldn’t have stayed with only looking, so he only gave her a deep, hungry kiss before leaving her for today, leaving a flustered Clara behind and having a desiring feeling in his body, that wouldn’t go away for the day. 

##

And so Clara stayed in the palace, two servants brought her her dresses and some personal things, also she told Armand she wanted to keep her place, just in case, and he didn’t minded. “I’ll buy it for you, when it makes you feel better.”

The chambers she got, where bigger as hers at home, and more luxurious. She was allowed to move in the area of his private estate, the gardens and the library. Servants served her food in a dining room, but for the first few days, she usually dined alone, as Richelieu mostly dined with king and queen or quit dinner over work.

She needed a few days to realize that she now lived with him (aside what he had told her) in the palace with many guards and servants. But no one seemed to question her appearance, and no one would dare. When she saw Richelieu over the day he mostly approached her only for a short moment and also acted like he was a paternal figure to her, for the safety of herself and him, he only searched her closeness in the evening. If at all. She quickly understood, that he didn’t give himself much rest and worked long hours and attended many meetings through the day. After a week of merely seeing him, she remembered the last time they had slept together and also remembered his little fantasy, so she decided to take matters in her own hand. 

#

Clara walked slowly down the corridors, it was afternoon, and she knew the king and queen had left the palace and so most of the guards and their servants had. Richelieu had stayed behind, not wanting to participate in another senseless hunting trip. He had told Clara, he would be in his work chambers to answer correspondence all day and so she knew where to find him.

The guards in front of the door, now knew her face, and when she showed them the cross around her neck, they didn’t stop her from entering his office. She smirked at them, and flitted quickly through the heavy door she had opened only a gap. 

Richelieu was about to write a letter, when he heard the door open, and he rose his voice in anger, without looking up, “I ordered, no one shall disturb me!”

Clara leaned against the door, arms crossed in front of her, not answering. The reaction was an impatient huff, and he finally looked up, needing a moment till he realized it was her and not anyone. However, he kept a stern face, and returned to his papers, “That applies to you too.”

“Does it?” she pushed herself away from the door, slowly striding forward. Like she was a stray cat which had accidently wandered into the room, she let her eyes wander around in the room. She had found out a tactic to unnerve him and amuse him at the same time. 

With a thud he placed the quill aside, and glared at her, also it was hard for him to ban the amusement from his eyes, “I have to write to the Pope _and_ the minister of Spain.”

She made an acknowledging grimace, only to end it with a smirk and leaned against his desk, “That’s very impressive, Cardinal. Would you like me to add my respects too?”

Richelieu leaned back in his chair and watched her play with the cross of him, twirling it between her tiny fingers. He knew she was up to something, and he could guess what. 

“It’s not a toy!” he wanted to reach for her and the cross, but she leaned back, and frowned at him like a petulant child.

“Hush!” not in the intention to anger him, she let go of the cross, and placed her hands into her lap. 

“Are you going to stand there all day?” he shifted in his seat and longed for the quill again, and tried to ignore her intentions. 

“Not really,” and with that she started to unlace the front of her dress. 

When he heard the rustling of the fabric, he glanced up, knowing he was in trouble already, but quickly looked down again, and tried to concentrate on the words he wanted to write, “The door is not locked.”

“I know,” she said, and tugged down on side of her dress revealing her bare shoulder and then the other, while noticing that he had placed the quill onto the paper, but wasn’t writing anything. “We both know, you are not going to finish this letter soon, so you could do yourself a favour and simply place the pen away.”

He swallowed before answering, “To do what?”

As answer, she hopped from the desk and gave the dress a heavy tug and within short time she stood in front of him all naked. Richelieu gulped over the sight and the dramatic way she had undressed herself. His hand placed the quill absently aside.

With her feet she shoved the dress over the floor, not without wiggling her bum a bit and then bowing down lasciviously to take it from the floor and to place it over a chair near by. Subconsciously Armand pressed his legs together, catching a short sight of her sex when she had leaned down. 

When she had placed the dress with way too much caution over the rest, she glanced over her shoulders finding a staring Cardinal, “I thought you wanted to write the Pope?” 

A deep growl was his answer, and with a brush of his hand, he shoved all the papers to the edges of the desk, “Come here!” 

Clara arched with her eyebrows for a second, smiling and wandered over to his desk and stopped there, waiting for his next demand. He thought he had her in his hands, but she knew better, and in the end he too, also she obeyed when he motioned her between him and the desk. Her bottom pressed against the edge of the old, wooden desk and Armand’s eyes wandered lustful over her nakedness. Stopping by her breasts for a moment and she took the moment to entangle one of her fingers in her long hair, brushing slightly against one of her nipples. 

“Beast,” he whispered feeling his manhood harden. He then spread apart his legs, shoving with his chair forward, so she could go nowhere. His left hand reached out to her hipbone to touch her there with two fingers, trailing them over her tummy to the other side.

“Tell me what you think,” she took his hand in hers, stopping him going more south with his fingers, and started to kiss and lick his fingers.

With wide open eyes, his heart sped up and under a heavy breath he said, “You are a beautiful woman. And also very naughty.”

“I’ll take both as a compliment,” she let go of his hand, and seated herself onto his desk. “Do you know what I will do now?” she placed her feet left and right from his thighs onto the seating surface. Her legs now slightly spread open and revealing parts of her sex. Armand raised his hands again, in intention to touch her legs, but Clara rose one warning finger, and his hand wavered in the air for a moment, before he settled them into his lap. 

“What are you going to do now?” it was hard for him to take his eyes of her centre and to meet her eyes. 

She hummed pleased over his reaction, “What do you would like me to do, Armand? Tell me.” 

He knew exactly what he wanted her to do, and he knew even better what he wanted to do to her, but words failed him as his mouth suddenly became dry. Clearing his throat, he found himself kneading his fingers hard, “Touch yourself.” It was merely a whisper.

A sharp breath escaped his mouth, when Clara spread her legs wider, revealing all of her to him. Then she began slowly to cares her upper thighs with her fingers, scratching and drawing circles only to come closer to her centre with each round she drew. Richelieu’s breathing became with each inch she travelled with her fingers more ragged and she could see the way his knuckles turned white - his inner lust grew fast. 

Poor, boy, she thought. This was only the beginning.

When she almost reached her centre, one of her hands darted out over her belly, up to her breasts, cupping it gently, squeezing it with a hum, and Armand arched up and leaned forward in a reflex, but Clara raised her foot and placed it on his chest and pressed him back into his seat. His expression betrayed his disappointment. 

Then her toes glided down the leather, to slid over his middle - evidently hard, and to find rest between his legs, pressing and slightly rubbing the bottom of her foot against his erection. It made his eyes fall shut, his lips tremble and his whole body shudder. He opened his eyes again, when Clara stopped, to see her lean a bit more back, putting two of her fingers into her mouth to wet them with a seductive purr, and then she spread her folds with the other and started to mix her own saliva with her juice. 

The sight of her fingers gliding between her folds sent an immediate chill through his body and his head tilted to the side, mouth open, making no more effort to look her in the eyes and his hips started to move in the tempo of her self-satisfaction. His shameless looks sent shivers through Clara and heated her even more, and so she entered a finger into her cunt - her eyes attentively directed on him, to not miss any reaction. Gasping her head fall back. “Do you want to know what I imagine, when I touch myself like this?”

“Yes, please,” he was tempted to press his hands against the bulge in his breeches, but hoped she would soon give him allowance to touch himself or take her, so he held back, even that it hurt.

“It’s your fingers on me, and your mouth, they are everywhere, and your talented tongue is licking me,” she moaned over the pictures she now had in her head. “How you fuck me with your fingers, all the way, till I come.” Her voice was a seductive singsong.

He wanted to lean forward again, but her foot stopped him once more, “Let me do it, Clara! Let me taste you! Let me make you come!”

His offer was alluring, she couldn’t deny it. The whole man was alluring, there was not one moment, she wasn’t ready to jump him. When she had wandered through his gardens, she had fantasised of him coming around a corner, crooking his finger to make her follow him into a isolated spot by the head-high hedges, only to shove up her dress and fuck her quickly between one conference and the other. Oh, she would like that!

“Not yet,” she smiled, all red in her face, panting, rubbing her clit faster now and Armand began to shift nervously on his chair. The woman knew how to torture him. “Open your breeches, Armand! Take yourself out!” Her allowance made him breath out in relief and he quickly began to undo his laces when she added; “Slowly!”

Now he had to be slow, he noticed that his hands shook, but he managed to open his breeches and free his hard, pulsing cock under a gasp. He gripped himself by the base, but a warning look of her made him do nothing else. It was not easy, he was eager for a little release, and for Clara anyway. 

“Do you want to stroke yourself?” it was hard for her to keep herself together, to balance herself on the edge and give out commands to him, keep an eye on him. She knew when she would give herself a bit more she would fall into her orgasm soon - too soon. 

“Yes,” he panted. “And I want to take you, I want to touch you.” Armand squeezed his testicles, imagine Clara would do it for him.

“Think about it! Imagine you do it, how you slide into me. Taking me, gently fucking me over the edge,” as if to urge him into the right direction with his fantasy she pushed two fingers into herself, her back now resting completely on the desk, the heels of her feet, on the edge of the desk. Pictures flickered up, like he buried himself into her, fucked her hard and kissed her gently.

Richelieu couldn’t hold back anymore, he jumped out of his seat and stepped closer to have a better view, but he took great care not to touch her, while he started to stroke himself, watching her fingers move in and out of her. 

“Tell me what you want! But don’t dare to come before I allow you!”

“I want to kiss you, your throat, down your chest, I want to suck your nipples, hard, while I push my cock into you, rub your clit,” he babbled. 

For the first time in his life he saw the chance he would pass out any second over his lust that made him dizzy. He had long forgotten, that the door was not locked, and that he should better take care of his correspondence. Richelieu had forgotten about it, as he had forgotten that he was a minister of God, contravening against everything what was sacred. 

Clara took his words, and visualized them in her head and began to circle her clit faster and harder. She couldn’t held back, the sweet feeling inside of her had become to big for her to stop now. The firework was ready to go off, “Armand!” 

He saw her cross the border, and come hard, her teeth biting her mouth, her hips jerking up and her cunt red and bumped up, contracted visible through her climax. 

With a furious, frustrated growl he needed to let go of himself, or he would come violently - breaking his silent promise. He lunged forward and with a bang he slammed his hands onto the surface of the desk aside from her upper body, towering over her. His cock almost touching her middle, he peered down at her, while she recovered from her climax. 

“Clara!”

She opened her eyes, finding him stand over her, with eyes that told her his body was churned up like after a sea storm. Every fibre in his body was tense, on the edge, his cock touching her now, slightly, and she smiled maliciously at him, “You are disobeying.”

His chest rose up and down fast, and she felt his hot breath colliding with her chest. His fingers curled slightly, as if he wanted to dig them into the desk. He pressed his cock harder onto her folds, “I… I know.”

“Has the Cardinal forgotten about punishment?” she brought her upper body on her elbows, and their faces almost met, so she took the chance to linger with her lips around his mouth, the tip of her tongue darting out, but not touching him.

He was battling with himself, shaking. It would have been easy, to press her down again and enter her, probably coming the moment he would push into her. He was almost convinced he would come when she would place another fantasy into his spinning head. And she saw it, she saw how he fought with himself, and she liked it, she took pleasure out of it, and it was as if this was the reason why he not disobeyed further. Her look was a promise, he would not regret it later, and he had learned to believe her. 

“Anything!” he hissed suddenly out of context, but Clara understood. 

“Anything?” she reached between her legs and embraced his cock with her palm, gently squeezing, massaging him, till his eyes fell shut over the sensation. 

“Anything…,” he whispered almost inaudible. “France to your feet, remember?”

She let pass by a minute, watching his relaxing face, how his breaths became more even, and each stroke seemed to wash over him like a warm, gentle breeze. Cardinal Richelieu replaced by Armand, who was a slave of his feelings, his emotions and his desires.

“I don’t want France,” she said softly and stopped her motion, and he opened his eyes, asking her with them, in despair, what it was then she wanted. “I want you.” 

She placed his member at her entrance, pressing it down so the tip of it slid into her. 

He almost shattered over the touch, over the allowance to take her, “I desire you so much, Clara, can’t you see? I am yours, and only yours!”

She longed for his upper arm, and motioned him down to her, so she could cover his mouth with hers. When he leaned down, he glided completely into her, moaning into her mouth, while he kissed her. 

To Clara it was, as if he wanted to make a point with his kiss, and to thank him for his words, she brought his hands around his back, shoving one hand into his curls, and joined his rhythm with her hips, her legs around his waist. 

So Armand took her on his desk with faster getting strokes, till Clara came once more with soft moans and a mere shudder of her body when Armand hit her secret spot over and over again, and sent flashes of pleasures through her body. 

Her gasps in his ear, he felt the feeling of ecstasy in his body, that had grown all the time deep in his body, to come to a no returning high, and with her name on his lips he came not hard, but long and as if he came home into a warm, ardent embrace of pleasure and unknown feelings. 

Armand collapsed on top of her, and she gave him a minute before she gently touched him on the shoulders, and so he raised himself and staggered back into the chair again. Clara smirked and climbed from the desk on weak legs. 

His head pressed against the rest, his right hand landed on his heart, feeling how it slowly relaxed. Almost shy he watched Clara walking over to her dress, to put it on again. Feeling his mouth dry, he stood up, dressed himself again, and walked over to a small table to fill himself some water into a glass. He drank it, turning away from Clara, unsure how to begin. Something was happening inside of him and he needed to tell Clara about it.

Clara watched him from the corner of her eye while dressing and noticed that he kept quiet and not returned to work. She had expected him, to find into his role as demanding Cardinal as usual, sending her away harshly, but this time, he seemed to be in a state. 

When he had emptied his glass, he filled it up again, and listened what Clara was doing, and when he then turned around, she was dressed again. Her cheeks pink, and her hair charmingly dishevelled. 

She found him smiling softly at her and acknowledged it with a tilt of her head. 

“Why not?” he held out the glass of water and waited till she had come over to him. “Why do you don’t want France?”

It was almost impossible how sweet Armand looked when he was confused. It didn’t get into his mind, that there was a person, who was not interested in France, in power and the want to form this country, that was his one big love and in his eyes there was nothing greater as to serve this land, to fight and when necessary die for it. 

Though, there she was, this impossible woman, who was all but interested in this offer and he… he couldn’t understand. Why would she choose him, when she could have else?

She chuckled, drinking from the water, “What shall I do with it, Armand? It’s too big for putting it into a shelf. Are you disappointed that I am not such woman? Not hungry for power?”

He remembered his last mistress and a few other woman in his life, who were driven by exactly this, and maybe this was the reason, why he never had thought there would be a woman who was more interested in him as a man and person as in him as powerful cardinal. 

Clara placed the glass aside and stepped up to him, taking the chance when he still was only her lover and not Cardinal Richelieu, and touched his cheek, “I don’t want France. It’s best in your hands. And… what you have said earlier, about being mine - No! Let me talk! - I don’t want you to give up anything. What ever people say, you are good for France, and I never expect, that you’ll give it up for someone like … like me, a…” she didn’t know how to end the sentence, and took her hand away, smiling coyly down the floor.

“A strong, clever woman,” he stepped up to her, making her face him. “You have wit, charm and more courage as some soldiers I know,” he then added with a smirk, “and you are nicer to look at. Go, take a bath, I’ll finish here, and you can join me later for dinner, when you want.”

It was the first time they would eat together and it made her happy, “That would be nice.”

He watched her go to the door, and when she was almost gone, he stopped her, “Clara?”

“Yes?”

What was it? Why wasn’t France no more his first thought right now? “Nothing, it was nothing. Go!”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a wicked idea for the next chapter, that will whirl up this relationship not only a bit and will set the directions for the end. 
> 
> Thanks for all your comments and that you enjoy this story so much!


	9. 09_France to your feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get out of hand and Richelieu and Clara have to face a massive crisis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that's the chapter that got out of hand and is very long. It's a... a heavy chapter. Many things happen here and it might bring one to the edge because the sex they have is somehow a mirror of their relationship and this happens here too. Everything happens with consent but it is a bit harsh.  
> Also it is the chapter where I intervened most into the character of Richelieu, and it's hard to keep him true. More about that in the end notes.  
> Oh, and tell me one thing, how did we get to Chapter 9 so fast? This story.. will kill me...

 

First, weeks went by, and then months. Clara became a regular at Richelieu’s place and when people had looked at her suspiciously or curiously at the beginning, they now just nodded or gave a polite smile. She befriended one of the maids, but only superficial, so she wouldn’t get herself in trouble and also not the maid. They mostly talked over dresses and some gossip.

Armand’s and Clara’s relationship built up and they spent more time together as before she had lived in the palace, but there were still times she didn’t see him for days or only in the distance. She didn’t minded, even she yearned for him. It was good for her that he let her do what she wanted, and didn’t control every step she did, aside she was sure he was well informed over her doings, but also she guessed he didn’t saw her as a spy and maybe only wanted to know what she was doing to feel close to her.

So she spent her time in the gardens, the library and had started to draw again, something she had done in her youth and Armand approved of it. He had a soft spot for art in any form, and so he provided her with anything she needed.

They had their troubles also, arguments, little banters, nothing serious, nothing they couldn’t resolve in the bedroom in the end. Clara kept it to herself, not wanting to scare him off, but she loved him every day more. She couldn’t help herself, even now she heard and saw more of the real Cardinal Richelieu, but she could see behind his actions, could see the reasons and his love for mother country and the King.

Then the attempt on his life happened. Two tries in a few days. First they tried to poison him, and it had almost worked out, when Treville and his man hadn’t reacted quickly and the physician knew what to do. Weakened, and laying in bed, Luca Sestini, an old friend of him, tried to stab him. With last strength and again a good aimed bullet of Aramis the musketeer saved his life.

When she heard about all that, and was finally allowed to go to him, she was all exhausted and worried on the inside - almost a bit hysterical. She didn’t show him much of that, he wouldn’t be happy about it. However, she ran into the room and fell on her knees aside of his bed, reaching out for his hand, her eyes wide and he could see she had cried a little.

“Clara?” he had missed her, and when he had sat at the table, and the poison had kicked in, it had been her face, that had flashed up before his inner eye before he had lost conscious. It was nothing he would tell her.

“I was worried,” she only said, as if he had only a cold.

He smiled gently, tired and still rattled on the inside from the attack on his life. Not the first one, but each attempt was frightening by itself of course. He squeezed her hand for a moment, “Don’t be. There is nothing you have to be worried about.”

In this moment, she not pushed the subject further. It had to wait for later, when he was out of bed and strong again. She pressed a light kiss on the back of his hand and then let him rest again. She dealt with her feelings in her chamber, sobbing over dinner, so that the maid she had befriended gave her a worried look. More she was not allowed to do, and it was better she didn’t ask, but it helped Clara to know she had the sympathies of someone.

After a week in bed, the Cardinal became restless and returned to his duties. The attempt on his life only had spurred him on in his believe that, what he was doing for France, was the right thing. No one would stop him. No one. He was furious in the weeks after, and had sent out his spies and soldiers to find the instigators in the background. In the span of four days, his men dragged four other people into his room and he all got them executed without any sign of mercy or sympathy.

In this time Clara didn’t searched his near and kept herself locked in her chambers. Loving him didn’t mean she approved of everything he did. Also it was not hers, she didn’t care about politics, but it was probably reasonable to show no mercy to assassinators. It was not that. It was more the expression in his face, as if he liked what he did. It was a new emotion she hadn’t seen on him, and it unsettled her.

Then one day after dinner, it was unusual for him, he came to the library where she used to draw. He had well noticed she avoided him in some sort.

“You are avoiding me,” he went to the table and browsed through her drawings, that laid there in organized chaos.

“No, I don’t,” she only said and watched out of the window, watching some servants cutting the hedges.

Richelieu huffed, “You know I hate when you lie. And you are lying.”

It would make no sense to deny her worries and the thoughts she had and so she gave in, turning around, “How many attempts there were already on your life?”

“A few,” he shrugged.

“It’s disturbing,” she then said. “I was worried, that’s all.”

“I told you, you don’t have to be worried.”

She felt impatient with him, as if he simply not wanted to understand that she was genuinely caring about him, “It’s not like a button one presses, Armand.” It sounded harsher as she had intended.

He arched an eyebrow, “What I do, brings danger with it. People don’t always agree on what I do. Forming this land, is not a democratic decision. It’s a hard fight, and sometimes it needs uncompromising actions, from both sides. There are men who don’t like what I do, so they try to stop me, and vice versa. That’s the business, Clara.”

“I know,” she said grim. “I… I just don’t think you understand me.”

“Ah, so this talk is not about me, but about you?”

“Don’t say it as if this is bad!” she snapped. “Not all the world is only spinning around you.” She regretted her temper the moment the words were out and Richelieu’s face turned into stone.

“You better watch your words!”

“Or what?”

“You pay the price,” he stepped closer, his boots making a creaking sound on the floor.

His words made Clara look at him, her face also cold and distant. It was a kind of discussion they never had before, filled with emotions and feelings that hadn’t been there before either, but had lurked always in the back of their relationship. The man in front of her, she didn’t knew him in this moment. It not frightened her, but more disgusted her, “Yes? Like the last girl you had? Or like the man who tried to kill you? Or how?”

That hadn’t happened in a long time, that he felt pure rage inside his chest. Wherever it did come from it had ruled out his caring feelings for Clara. She was lucky, he didn’t grab her or hit her in this moment, “I forbid you, to talk to me like this! It seems you have forgotten on which mercy you are standing.”

“It seems so, yes,” she looked away, not hiding her revulsion. It only made him more furious. He stepped back to the table, grabbed some of the paintings and tore them apart, “You go to your room now!”

“Or what?” she snapped.

“Or you will be removed!” he roared. He was blinded by his anger.

Clara stomped past him, stopping once at the door, glaring at him, “You are not better as the other men I had. Cruel and ordinary, that’s what you are!”

She closed the door with a bang, and hurried away, knowing the words would do something to him. And they did. If she had stood directly in front of him saying it, he had done something nasty to her, he knew.

His hand reached for his chest, feeling a pressuring feeling building up. Anger, and fury and hurt. Yes, she had hurt him, her words had cut deep inside of him. He hurled the table over, panting like a wild animal, before he fled away from her into the gardens, afraid he would do something to her. he would later regret.

Richelieu needed hours to regain control over himself again. The past weeks had unsettled him, had changed him, had made him more grim, more fierce, more dangerous but he couldn’t tell if this was good.

He sensed it had made his being worse, and aside Clara’s word had stung and still ached in his heart, it told him, that it only ached because he felt so much for her. In the evening he returned to her chambers, in want to settle the argument, only to find her chambers empty. The cross he had given to her, laid on the table, and she was gone. Without a word or a letter. It was a mistake of Clara to do so. A mistake she would pay for. Filled up with anger and wounded feelings he stormed back to his chambers and redressed. He wouldn’t let her get away with this. Disobedience, arrogance and that by a woman! Calling him ordinary, she would soon find out what that meant.

In a rash decision she had yanked the cross from around her neck, had grabbed what she needed and had left to her old chambers, she luckily still had. In turmoil and angered over his reaction, she found herself laying in her bed, first weeping, than growling at the pillow and then she was convinced her reaction was the right one. He had been cruel to her, and he didn’t deserve her attention. At least not for a while. Deep inside her she hoped they would find a way to get over it, but for now, she not wanted to see him. She was no woman for hanging at him like naive girl, she had lived without him before, she could go back to that, even she didn’t liked the thought of it. Her life with him at the palace was nice and comforting, and without many worries. Also she had saved some money, she could go along for while, without worrying too much.

And then, when it was almost nine, it knocked harsh at her door. She waited, kept silent, and then it knocked again. She walked over to the shelf, where still the dagger laid, and reached for it.

“Who is this?”

“You have been recommended!” a male voice came from behind the door.

Clara frowned, “Recommended? What do you mean?” she slowly walked up to the door, the dagger in her hands.

“You services,” it came plain from the other side.

It made her suspicious, as she hadn’t been here for a while, and since she had been with Armand, she hadn’t offered her services anymore, “By whom?”

As answer, she heard rustling, and then the man on the other side shoved some money under the door. She could see it was good amount of money. “Go away!”

Again someone shoved money under the door, and Clara sensed, the person would not go away, till she would deal with him face to face, “I’m opening the door, but beware I am armed!” she heard the man step away from the door.

So Clara unlocked the door, peering out to find the back of a man, in brown leather clothes and a short cape and a hat. Probably a plain soldier, she guessed. “Who has recommended me to you?” she asked again.

The man turned swiftly around, taking off his hat, and stepping inside so fast, Clara couldn’t shut it anymore, “The Cardinal!” it hissed, and only then, when the door was shut, and she had lunged back, she saw Armand staring at her with ire in his eyes.

“Armand!” he had changed his luxurious robe against the plain clothes of a man from the street. He was surely alone here, without guards or protection. He locked the door. “What are you doing here?”

“I am here to give you a lesson,” he began, stepping up to her, but he kept a distance, as she still had the dagger in her hand. “I don’t do you harm, take away the dagger! You know it wouldn’t stop me anyway.”

She hesitated, but decided to trust him and placed the dagger onto the bed. “What do you want?”

“You said, I am just like the others, ordinary, so I am here, like the ordinary mob outside that door!” he stepped up to one of the chairs in the corner and placed it into the middle of the room. “I want your services.”

“My services?”

“You are a whore, aren’t you?” she leaned back by the word. He never had titled her this before. “I am paying,” he gestured down the money on the floor. “I require your services.”

“Armand-”

“-You are not using my name!” he interrupted loud. “I require your services. It’s what you offer, right? For the plain man. I pay you good, so I want what I am here for.”

“What if I don’t want?”

He smiled, wickedly, “I think you want, don’t you? You want to give me a lesson, right?”

He was not entirely wrong, “Fine,” she said after a moment, and stepped to the bed. If it was what he wanted, he should have it, and then he could leave and rot in hell.

“No,” he stopped her, and walked to the stool, taking of the coat. “Here.”

“Here?”

“Yes, I pay, so you obey my wishes,” he took of his jacket too and sat onto the stool. “I have been in brothels before, I know how it works. I don’t desire your nakedness, I only want release. So gather up that dress of you and sit. on. my. lap!”

His commanding tone only spurred her own anger on, and she decided to make him pay for his behaviour. She quickly removed her undergarments and stepped up to him, with fire in her eyes. Whatever he was playing, she was not willing to give in. Let him fuck her and then let him vanish, oh no, she was better than that. She motioned to his lap, and he opened his breeches without taking his eyes away from her. He was hard already and she caught herself, that she thought he had a twisted mind, for feeling desire in this moment. Also she knew, that man, didn’t need much to “get ready”.

She rolled up the skirt of her dress, and placed herself onto his lap, his hands embracing her waist. For a few seconds they only stared at each other, both in anger, in disappointment. They knew everything was a misunderstanding, but they were both too stubborn to give up the power play, to simply say that they were sorry. They had reached the moment, their relationship had become unhealthy and when this was over, there was a good chance, nothing was left of it.

“You need another invitation, or what is it?” he digged his fingers into her waist and motioned her toward his erection. Peevish, she reached under the dress, took his cock in her hand, and brought herself over him. Then she let herself down, and they both only breathed a little harder, but aside that they didn’t showed any emotion. There was no pleasure in it yet.

“How do you want it?” she asked then.

“Oh, how about,” he said, and started to move her hips, “you enjoy yourself.”

It was supposed to sound cruel and it was, and Clara hated him like no other in this moment, but she went with the motions of his hand and started to ride him. It quickly became a hard and harsh pace and she could see he had trouble to keep himself together. He bit the inner of his cheeks and his body trembled. It was stunning to her that he was able to keep quiet, this needed a lot of self control.

“Do you like it?” he knew she had to lie, as he had paid her. “Do you enjoy yourself?”

“Yes,” she clenched her muscles while saying it, and it produced a high pitched groan out of his mouth. They both knew she didn’t enjoyed it, and neither did he.

“As I pay you, you could at least do as if you enjoy this,” he grabbed her cheek and brought her close to his face. “As you are so experienced with the ordinary, I am sure you know how to please me! I want you to come, and if you can’t come, you going to do as if! Do we understand each other?”

His hot breath collided with her face, and his eyes were filled with so many emotions, that she had trouble detecting them all. It was not only rage and anger, no it was...hurt. He was hurt, this one emotion was the most obvious. His eyes were red, and glazed. Did she hurt him? How was this even possible? As he reassured her all too often, that she was not important to him. And yet, here he sat, his eyes filled up with pain.

No, she couldn’t do it, she couldn’t act this out. She was ready to pay the price, whatever that would be, but she would not do this, not to him, not to her and not to their relationship. Yes, she was angry, hateful, but deep inside, there was still love for him.

“No!” she called out, and when he tried to hold her, she slapped him and then fought her way out of his lap and grip. “Take your money and go!”

Armand held his cheek, groaned and then jumped up, turning his back on her, and packed himself away again. What has gotten into him? He couldn’t tell. He wanted to run away, like the ordinary man would do he had dressed up, but he couldn’t.

“How dare you left me without a word?” he then turned around in an outcry. Clara stood by the bed, she had taken the dagger again, knowing he was unpredictable.

“And with good right!” she blurted. “Can’t you see?”

“See what?” no he couldn’t, or he maybe could and didn’t wanted to face the truth.

“I was afraid! You could have died!”

“I didn’t.”

“No, but there is always a chance, isn’t there? And you deny me, to worry about it.”

“Because there is nothing to worry about it! Don’t bother yourself about me!”

“It’s not yours to decide, Armand! I worry as much as I want about you!”

It didn’t get into his head. “Why would you do it?” he yelled.

“I said it once, and I say it again, because I love you, and I can’t bare the thought, of you being dead,” she yelled back, tears now spilling down her face.

He leaned back over the words, over the emotions, over the repeated admission of her feelings.

“I rather leave you, as seeing you die,” she added, explaining why she had gone, that it was not out of fear or rage, but out of love. “You were cruel today, that’s what France is doing to you, what the people are doing to you. I never said anything, I let you be, can’t you see it, can’t you acknowledge it? And then when I - at least once - express my worries for you, you title me unimportant. It’s not a threat, when I tell you I care!”

“Can’t _you_ see?” he grabbed his neck with one hand. “It is a threat! Your love is a threat to me, how can I rule this country, when I know you love me? It does make me fearful, because I don’t want you to wake up one day, and find out I am dead. I can’t have that! I can’t allow it.”

Clara stared at him, her heart was beating hard in her chest. The words, she was well aware what they actually meant, the deeper meaning and for the first time he allowed her an insight into his inner struggle, into the angst that possessed him since he had met her.

“When you can’t have it, then you must leave, Armand,” she gulped, pressing down the sadness that inherited her chest. “Go, rule France, form it as you will, I am not going to stop you. How could I? I never tried, and I never will. You love this country, and it pays you not back, but that’s just me saying and observing. It makes you cruel sometimes, and it gives you enemies and one day, they might get to you. And that’s what I can’t have!”

Armand stood in front of her, and shattered on the inside. All the walls, all the things he had created inside of him, he had let grown to protect himself, fell down in pieces. Every word from her, was the truth. When he would die one day, France would still stand, still be there while he rotted in the earth after having a lonely life. He had done already too much for this country, and yes, he could do more, there was always more one could do. But wasn’t that also the King’s duty? Weren’t there not enough clever men? He knew one or two, who he thought could and should come after him.

The question was, if he was willing to step back, to give it up, to let go of all that. Wouldn’t he die without it? Wasn’t it everything that made him?

He wouldn’t return to his duty as Cardinal, when he Clara wouldn’t come with him. Not because he was stubborn, and thought he wanted both or nothing, but because it would pain him not to have her by his side. More than not having the power over France.

He gathered some courage and walked up to her. Clara still unsure, still shaken, held up the dagger, and he stepped up to it, till the tip of the blade touched the spot under his collarbone. She couldn’t pull away anymore, when he grabbed for her wrist and made her hold the dagger firm against his flesh. Then the tip cut into his flesh, not deep but still. It made him wince.

“Armand, don’t!” Clara whispered.

“I lay France to your feet,” his voice was even and strong, only his eyes betrayed his turmoil. “I didn’t say that lightly.”

“And I still don’t want it!” she yanked her hand free and the dagger fell to the floor, his clothes already soaked with blood.

Richelieu started to shook his head, with a sad smile, “You don’t understand, Clara. What is France? A country, but who rules France? The King? At _my_ mercy,” and then he did, what he never thought he ever would do, except when he would be in a church. He fell down on his knees and Clara gasped at the sight of it.

Yes, he laid France to her feet, and now she understood.

She stepped back, almost shocked, “You better stand up, Cardinal Richelieu,” Overwhelmed. “You will regret it later.”

“I’ll regret, when I can’t convince you to come back with me. I’ll regret, when I can’t show you that …,” he needed to close his eyes for a moment, “that I am sorry. I am a cruel man, and I have to be one sometimes. But it was wrong to be cruel to you.”

He never would say the words, the words Clara had told him twice, it was not his. The gesture it was, and it was greater and more meaningful as words ever could be.

What shall she do with him? She looked at him long moments, before taking her skirt and ripping a piece of cotton away and then came to him, down on her knees, shoving the shirt aside and pressed the cloth onto his bleeding wound. Armand kept silent and only watched her, wincing under the touch.

“You were stupid to come here alone,” she only glanced at him before looking back at the wound.

“Yes, I know,” he said hoarse.

“And you were stupid to make me hurt you.”

“Yes,” another whisper.

The wound was not that deep and it would soon stop bleeding, and so she let go of it, finding herself near to Armand’s face, finding her hand to touch his cheek. It was slightly red from her slap, but with the touch the pain was gone.

It was almost ridiculous how much he yearned her touches, he thought and covered her hand with his. He knew he didn’t deserve her after what he done today. Clara wouldn’t give him a second chance, when it would happen again. He wasn’t a man for second chances himself.

He leaned forward in hope Clara would let him, and she did, meeting him halfway. And when their lips touched, they both couldn’t hold back anymore. Under a passionate kiss, she tugged at his shirt and he helped her, shoving it over his head, grabbing then her hands, and pulling her onto her feet, into his arms.

They stumbled to the bed, awkwardly undressing themselves and when they both were naked, he lowered her down onto the bed in his arms, catching her lower lip, gently sucking, nibbling.

Her tongue lingered by his mouth and he met hers with his, and they kissed long like this. Passionate, gentle and demanding - a mix of many emotions. Hands wrapped around each other, pulling the other close. Their hands travelling over the body of the other, searching the warmth, feeling the heartbeat under the flesh. Armand pressed himself against her more than ever, he needed to feel her bare skin on his, covering her throat and collarbones with kisses.

His hand brushed softly over her breasts, and he could feel her warm hand on his sides, massaging the flesh of his hip, and spreading with the other hand over his nipples what made him gasp. They both knew what they wanted, and they didn’t wanted to lose anymore time.

Clara’s hands fondled his neck and sprawled through his thick grey hair. It had grown out a little in the last weeks, and she had found pleasure in rooting through it and now she did it again. Usually he backed away, telling her, he couldn’t walk outside the palace like this, all disheveled. It was more a banter when he said it. This time he purred like a cat.

Every touch was now welcome and so needed. His tongue licked over her collarbone, and it made her shudder. He smirked against her skin, he was aching the need to kiss her breasts, take her hard nipples between his teeth and swirl his tongue around it to tease her and his mind even told him to move more south. But it was not what he wanted in this moment. There were so many naughty possibilities but for once he not wanted to simply fuck her, he wanted to be gentle. He wanted to be careful, wanted to be caring, wanted to be decent. Show her respect, and what she meant to him.

And somehow she sensed this, because she acted the same way. Her hands could have easily teased his erection, but she barely touched him there, just a shy stroke at the side, a soft brush. Her fingernails scratching over his back, her teeth nibbling at his shoulders, humming into the crook of his neck.

Then after a while, they broke apart, sharing almost nervous glances, taking each others sight in. Armands hair was ruffled and Clara’s lips were red from his eager kisses. He smiled, kissed her and shoved himself on top of her, anxious to keep his weight off of her. She spread her legs for him, feeling his hipbone against her center. Deep inside she is all warm, burning, and she shakes in anticipation. To sooth herself, she touches him by the stomach, slowly digging in her fingertips, massaging his muscles, guiding him subconsciously toward her wet core. She is not willing to wait any longer.

He framed her face with his arms, were he put his weight on, his fingers tenderly stroking her forehead and her ear. He was ready and she was too, but he hesitated, asked her in silence if she really wanted this after all this, after all the emotions, and the words that they have thrown at each other over the day. Her answer was a slight buck with her hip against his member.

He leaned forward, kissing her again, taking himself in his hand. He stroked himself twice to smear his wetness over his erection. Gasping and all overwhelmed it was suddenly hard to guide himself to the exact spot, while not looking and she came to his rescue with her hand, leading him the way.

When the tip of his cock touched her wet center, he moved the head against her labia, and Clara hummed in consent, urging him with one hand on his bottom to push forward. His hips moved forward and he covered her lips once more, and entered all the way.

They both gasped, and Clara’s hands held him firm by his grey curls and when they were completely connected he held still for a moment.

Looking at her, he wanted to know if she was okay. As an answer she brushed over his cheek. They knew, they had never been closer - this was a special moment.

He lifted his hips, to slide back, again they gasp what became quickly a soft chuckle. She climbed his lips again with a smirk, and he started a steady pace. Slow, leisurely, while they kiss each others mouth and their jawlines. Heavy breathes against each others ear, he murmured into her ear that she is so beautiful, that she feels so good and that he will never let her go again. As answer she entwined her legs around his, pressing hard against him, searching the rhythm with him.

Armand could feel their climaxes slowly raise - even with his slow strokes, they knew they can’t hold out forever. He wished he could. She felt warm, soft and they both seem to fit so very perfectly in this moment. He loved how she moaned into his ear under his moving hips, how her hands glided over his back, and down to his bottom to beg him for more. The way she started pleading. In her eyes he could see how desperate she was to come - for him.

He quickened his movements - just slightly, thrusted into her more firmer. Tried to find her sweet spot, the one that would make her burst inside and when she started to move her hips with his rhythm, and moaned louder, he caught it as a sign, that she was close. Close behind, himself.

A spark at first, had became a fire, inside their stomach’s, spreading through their bodies, growing, becoming hotter every second, till they both would burn out in lust, passion and affection.

“Please,” she hummed into his ear, and it was all he needed to know. His thrusts became shorter, harder. Clara’s breath quickened, and he looked at her, at her face, how her lips trembled and when she crossed the edge her eyes fell shut. And he slammed himself into her, pushed her as far as he could. Her upper body bent under him, her head pressed back into the pillow and she then uttered his name in her ecstasy when warm waves clashed over her.

Only seconds after her, his climax rushed over him. His lips on hers, he murmured her name into her mouth, while kissing her passionately while he came deep inside of her. It was like as if he would melt into her. Like she was the fire and he was the ice and he was willing to give himself up, just to be with her like this forever.

All sweaty and out of breath he collapsed on her, and she embraced him, stroked his back, while they both respired after their climax into the shoulder of each other. Still in her, he shifted his weight onto his forearms, his face still buried by her neck. He was not ready to let go of her just like that. Still in the need to drink in her scent, to touch her salty skin with his swollen kissed lips.

She hummed into his ear, an acknowledgement, making little circles with her fingertips up his spine toward his neck into his curls.

“Clara, my Clara,” he whispered, searching eye contact. “Will you come back with me to the palace?”

It was not what he had hoped for, when she hesitated and so he pushed himself up, and came to rest at her side, “I will not force you. If you want time, you shall have it.”

“Then I will take the time,” was all what Clara said. To many things had happened, and maybe it was better to go back to the old conditions, even when it meant, she wouldn’t see him only every few weeks.

For once in his life, he accepted an unacceptable decision, knowing it was his own fault. He had to return to the palace before the sun was going up, so he left her wordless, but with good hope that she would return to him.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was not all about sex and more about character and story development. I hope you still had fun with the erotic scene(s).  
> Someone pointed in the comments out, I have to look out to make the Cardinal not to .. can't remember the word... I call that "cheesy". I think I got it, but here and there it is maybe sketchy, also we are in Chapter 9, the character development is happening! Also, tell me what you think! Too much maybe?!  
> And thanks to alice-amiryan for the background info about the show, as I haven't seen it. I'm not sure if it was really Aramis who shot the guy, so if it was not him... sorry.


	10. 10_Let us be sinners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara returns to the Cardinal, she is not only there to tell him if she is going to stay or not...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long last chapter, this one is significant shorter, also the character development is not much happening in this one... but something else is ;).

Two weeks went by and Armand didn’t hear from Clara. It made him anxious that she might had decided against him, against what they had, because of what he had done. The only one who noticed his restlessness seemed to be Treville, with whom he had, as usual many arguments about his Musketeers and Richelieu’s actions in politics. When he had rubbed and squeezed once again his hands together, the Captain had eyed him for a while till he had asked him if everything was alright. Erratic Richelieu had asked him why he would ask such question, Treville kept his reasons for him and didn’t answer, but Richelieu caught him looking with scrutiny.

Armand was tempted to send out his man to find Clara, only to see if she was alright, but he guessed she wouldn’t very pleased about it, and so he tried to distract himself with work. He was sure, she would send him a message in case she had no plans of returning to him.

He was just about to finish a last letter before going to get something to eat, when it knocked at his door and one of his guards appeared in the door frame.

“What is it?” he asked edgy.

“My Lord, there is someone who wants to see you,” the guard bowed slightly.

Richelieu had a headache and was not in the mood to host someone, “Tell them, I don’t have time. They shall come back tomorrow, or better next week.”

“My Lord, she told me to show you this,” the guard held out the golden cross, Armand had left back at Clara’s place so she would be able to enter the palace again.

At the sight of it he jolted up, “Get her! And I don’t want to be disturbed till you hear otherwise, or you’ll lose your head!”

The guard gulped, nodded and disappeared.

When Clara came into his work chamber, he stood by his desk, unsure what to expect and how to react. One hand touched the surface of his table, the other kneaded the thumb in his palm. Clara had taken the cross from the guard again and wore it around her neck, standing by the door.

“So,” Richelieu began, feeling his heartbeat accelerate.

“So,” she spoke up, also nervous, but smiling.

Armand realized he was looking like a young boy to her, who was unable to make a statement, so he cleared his throat and corrected his posture, and asked with a stern countenance, “You let me wait two weeks.”

Clara caught her left hand with her right in front of her, and couldn’t help but smile softly over him, “Yes. Yes, I have.”

He nodded, one hand hanging in the air, waiting for her decision. Once more he hid his insecurities he had with her, behind a statesmanlike posture.

She took her time, watched him a bit, till he began to shuffle nervously with one of his feet, only then she decided to let him get off the hook, “But what are two weeks,” she began to smile wider, “for the rest of your life?”

A relieved breath he had hold escaped him, his face relaxing, “Does this mean?”

She run up to him, “Yes, it does!” then stopped in front of him and grabbed his hands. “If you still want me, of course.”

He beamed at her, and pressed a kiss onto her lips, before pulling her into a hug, “Never doubt that! Why did you wait so long?”

“I needed to be sure,” she pressed her face against the leather on his chest. “I wanted to find out how long I could be without you, without getting mad. As it seems, two weeks is the most acceptable.”

He snickered, “Than you did better as me,” he walked with her to his chair, and made her sit in his lap.

Clara glanced around and saw he had put up a picture she had drawn for him. Notre Dame. He had let it framed and now it hang at the opposite of his desk, by the door. So every time he looked up, he caught the attention of the picture. Richelieu saw her looks, and he could see she was proud and flustered at the same time, that he had hung it up. “I wanted something from you in this room. The King has complimented it recently.”

“Really?” she guessed he lied, but she wouldn’t make him tell her it. The idea, that the King had liked one of her pictures was a nice imagination.

Armand shoved some strands of hair from her back, and kissed her spine. He had missed her scent in his nose and her warm skin under his hands and lips.

She hummed, she had yearned his touches for long days too, but she still had to make a point, so she arched her back away and looked at him with a discerning expression, “You know hopefully, that I only stay under one circumstance.”

He brushed over her cheeks, “I guessed that. So what is your demand?”

“You have to accept that I genuinely care for you, and you never going to tell me, that I am not allowed to worry. And when you ever send me away again, be sure, I’ll not return.”

The last part made him swallow, and nod, he knew she was serious about it, “I’ll promise.”

Her stern expression turned into a bright smile and she leaned in again, and so Armand continued kissing the skin that the dress exposed to him. Him teasing her with his tongue, moisten little spots of her flesh only to blew over it, sent prickles and shivers down her spine. Clara bent her neck to the side, resting her head on his shoulder, her mouth by the spot under his ear, kissing him there.

He grabbed the invitation of her, nibbled up her throat to her ear, licking over her artery till she purred and shivered under the sensation. His hands travelled up her waist, up to her covered breasts, and his thumbs brushed over the edges of the fabric, “You wearing one of your cheeky dresses,” he mumbled, feeling her nibbles getting hard.

Laughing, and eyes closed, she whispered into his ear, “Then I shall tell you, I don’t wear undergarments.”

The confession made him almost choke and he felt his cock twitch at the unseen image. Clara not only had come back to him, to tell him she would stay, she had come back to him, to seduce him right away, and the thought made him proud and horny, and his hands quickly gathered up the skirt of her dress, his fingernails scratching up her legs.

She had indeed no undergarments and it made his breath go heavy. His left hand cupped one of her breasts, and he tugged at the fabric, till he had it free, and snatched her nibble between his fingers, gently twirling it.

With a gasp she exclaimed her delight, “I missed this.”

Armand had rolled up all the dress, and was now caressing the inner of her thighs, with gentle strokes, with which he came closer to her centre bit by bit, “I missed this too.”

His teeth got buried into her shoulders, and she quivered under the lustful pain. Giving her breast one last squeeze he then spread her legs further apart, and started to touch her close to her middle. He couldn’t see it, but already felt, that she was wet and waiting for him. Slowly he trailed along her outer labia up to her pubic mound and down again, deliberately not touching any other spot of her.

Clara was already like wax in his hands, shifting and squirming in his lap to bring his hands closer to her sensitive area. It also gave friction to his cock, and his hard member pressed against her bottom and her back.

To find a way to get some tensions off her, Clara grabbed the one breast, that was uncovered and started to knead it with little moans. It made Armand mad, and he longed so much for her nipples to take them into his mouth, so he quickly concentrated back to the spot between her legs, and made his mouth occupied with kissing the crook of her neck.

“Do you want me to touch you?” he whispered gravelly into her ear, still only teasing her sex.

“Yes, please, Armand!” Clara bucked up, almost taking his hands to bring them to her clit. He chuckled, and placed his left hand over her pubic mound to pull up the skin and spread her at the same time, two of his fingers at the end of her entrance, now brushing like a breeze over her wet sex. It had the desired effect with Clara moaning out loud, and hissing a broken “Fuck”. “Do it again!”

Armand licked her neck, “I like when you try to be bossy, even when I have you in my hands.”

Her bum trusted into his erection as an first answer, and he groaned over it, “Shut up, and do it again!”

“Needy game player,” he bit her and this times his fingers brushed harder over her slick cunt and his fingers were all wet. Not even god knew, how much he wanted her in this moment. And so he slowly started to rub over her clit while he imagined it was his tongue, that slowly eat her out. The speed he gave her was slow and gentle, he had not in mind to bring her to the edge quickly. She had made him wait two weeks for an answer, and his little revenge would be to make her wait for her release.

“I can’t wait to have you,” he breathed. “Can’t wait to show you what you have missed in the last two weeks, my dear.”

“You can have me now,” she gasped, one hand around his neck, the other gripped around the armrest, her knuckles already white, over the sensual waves that went through her.

He knew, she wanted to trick him into fucking her again on his desk, but he had better in mind, “Tell me, Clara,” his fingers stopped circling her little nub, now exploring the wet sea around her entrance, “How I can have you? How do you like me to have you?”

Richelieu had many ideas in his head, how to bring her to satisfaction in the bedroom, but he wanted to hear it from her, wanted to feast on her fantasies, take them against her, to bring them both, later that day, to bursting.

She breathed heavily, and when he returned to circle her clit again, her head was all dizzy and empty and he needed to repeat the question, “Tell me how to fuck you, and I’ll do it tonight.” His fingers began to tap against her clit and the way she moaned all filthy told him, she wouldn’t last long.

“I want you to tie me up,” it then came and it made him hold still in surprise. And because he liked the idea of it, him tying her up at his bed, he started to push the first inch of his fingers into her. He needed to press her down by her pelvic, to prevent her to buck up and make him sink into her completely. “And then … y-you can do as you like. Kissing ... me. Caressing me. Making me yours.”

“Worshipping you,” he completed, seeing her already, all sprawled out on her bed, while he kissed every inch of her body, while his fingers would gently fuck her, and he would make her come over and over again. “I would like that,” his fingers were now deep inside of her, barely moving, but curling slightly to press against her sweet spot.

The stool creaked under her squirming, and he could see her hand was almost white, with so much force she was gripping the armrest. Her body was all tense, every muscle tight, the vigorous ball of feelings in her middle, ready to explode, on the command of him and his fingers. He only had to move inside of her, push his fingers hard and fast into her - it would make her tremble in his arms and make her cry out his name, but he didn’t gave in, still made her wait.

“Come to my room tonight, at seven, and I’ll give you everything you desire,” he began a fine rhythm, the finger of his other hand now over her clit, rubbing again. Everything was wet and he also felt his cock leak and knew he would have a hard time willing it away later.

“Yes,” more she couldn’t say anymore. She was so close, so tense and she would promise him everything, allow him to do everything, only to make him move, make his fingers fuck her hard and fast.

And then he started tapping against her nub, his fingers now sliding in hard strokes in and out of her, her head pressed hard against his shoulders, panting for air. Tears of exhaustion spilled down her cheeks, and the moment she thought she would get unconscious, her climax rushed over her violently and her mouth opened for a deep guttural noise and her eyes stared wide open toward the ceiling, while Armand’s finger sent shock wave after shock wave through her. It felt like dying in a beautiful pain for her.

She needed to stop him, by taking his wrist, as the touches became hurtful and her body didn’t stopped jerking on top of him, “Oh god!”

He stilled, slipping his fingers out of her, brushing her hair out of her face, while her body slowly relaxed again in her afterburn into his. “I hope for him, he hasn’t seen this,” he pressed a soft kiss onto her shoulders and her eyes flung open, facing him and she needed to laugh over his words.

“You are a sinner, Cardinal.”

He tugged her dress down again, and shoved her around in his lap, so he could face her properly, smiling over the red cheeks and the satisfaction in her eyes and the easy smirk, “That makes us two.”

His mouth captured her lower lip, his hand around her neck pressed her into him and he allowed himself a deep kiss as a compensation for not coming yet.

“I can…” she smiled into his lap, licking her lips, but he shook his head.

He would become his reward in the evening, “Tonight.”

Yes, he would make her not forget the coming night, that he promised to himself and mostly to her with another long kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the next chapter, I am sensing the character development will not be the main topic of it either, but the last one was such a big thing, you will forgive me I guess. Also - except a genius idea strikes me - I am planning to end this fic with Chapter 12 or 13. At least for the moment.


	11. 11_Worshipping you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richelieu has to keep a promise to Clara about worshipping her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, little longer this time I needed, but I was busy writing other stuff. Anyway, you probably could foresee what would happen in this chapter from the last.  
> Also I switched tenses here and went for Present, it somehow felt more natural, I can't tell.. I know it is probably a no go, but this didn't stop me. Next will be in the past again.

In the evening she comes to him, passing the guard that is in front of his door all the time since the last attack on the Cardinal.

He is already waiting for her, his leather garb hangs over the stool at the side, and he is wearing his black shirt, with the breeches and still his boots. The room is lit by a dozen candles, and she finds him standing by the armchair, smiling when she comes in.

She raises an eyebrow at him, smirking, a challenge, all curious and nervous on the inside if he will keep his promise from a few hours ago.

“Come here,” Armand says in a low voice, piercing at her with a lowered chin. He grabs her hand, and walks with her over to the bed where he takes her in a minute, her beauty and the curiosity in her eyes, he had fallen for since the beginning. Taking her hands in his, he kisses them before placing them on his chest to lean in, to kiss her mouth gently. Slowly embracing her, with only two fingers on the small of her back, he makes her go up onto her tip toes and she gives the first hum of the night while his tongue begs her for entrance. One hand cups her face, fondling with her hair, deepening the kiss till they run out of air.

“Armand…” she whispers, already feeling her body react to him.

“Shh!” he presses his finger on her lips, pursing his lips with a smile, and then starts slowly to undo the laces of her dress one by one. “You don’t have to do anything tonight.”

The promise sends a rush of blood into her cheeks, and Armand notes it with a stroke of his thumb over her cheek and another tender kiss on her lips.

Clara feels, he is in no hurry tonight, with such slowness he opens the laces and when they are open and the dress would be ready to get tugged down, he only shoves the fabric from the shoulders a bit, and leans down to press soft kisses around her collarbones. Crossing from the left to the right he halts by the little mould by her throat, his tongue flicking over the spot, the breath out of his nose tickling her.

Clara’s eyes fall shut, and she raises her hands to find halt by his waist. His touches feel so sensual and it feels all so new. They had slow sex before, taking their time, but there is usually always some kind of fever with them and with him when they kiss, when they tease each other. This time it feels different and she decides to let him do, to let herself fall and that she makes known with another long hum.

When he has reached the other side of her shoulder, he then shoves the dress down, down to her waist, and then goes down with it on his knees, helps Clara to step out of the fabric, and then pushes it aside. She is now fully naked and looks down at him, where he is still kneeling on one knee, looking up, admiring her, his hands on her upper thighs, fondling the warm skin. Before he stands up again, he places a kiss on each thigh and then takes the hair pin out of her hair, so her hair comes down. Taking her hand in his, he guides her down onto the bed.

It’s fresh made and he takes care she lays comfortable before he takes two black silk laces from under the pillow and shows her them. Her eyes widen on the sight of it and he lets the ends of the laces fall down, so they touch her upper body, and moves the ends over her breasts and he can see how she slightly shudders and gets goosebumps over it.

“Trust me,” he whispers into her ear, taking her wrists and slowly ties her hands loosely together and then he ties her to the rest of the bed.

“Always,” she answers, watching him tie the knots. She can see, that she could free herself with a harsher tug anytime. When he is done, he kisses her again, tongue on tongue and he feels his manhood reacting to it, but he is not done yet, and the next thing he takes from under the pillow is nothing Clara has expected. A blindfold.

In silence he asks her if it is fine for her, and as answer she raises her head, and Armand binds the blindfold around her eyes, taking great care not to hurt her. Now everything is black and she can feel how her fantasies go all haywire over what he might will do with her.

“Give me a minute,” he whispers and she feels the bed move, when he stands up to get himself undressed.

First he takes of his shoes and than his breeches and the undergarments he wears, but the black shirt he lets on and then he comes back to the bed, looking down at her. Tied up, naked and blinded. Her chest raises in deep breathes, and she cares herself with shoving one foot over her other leg. He can see she is all full of expectations of what will happen, without having a clue what exactly will be. 

Then he sits aside from her again, touching her arm and asking if she feels okay. Clara nods, and turns her head and smiles over herself because she can’t see him of course.

He smiles too and then bows down, pressing his lips onto her stomach above her belly button, one hand on her side, massaging the flesh, the other travels with two fingers upwards followed by his lips, pecking kisses the way his fingers go.

The path goes between her breasts, around them, along the sides, only teasing gently the soft flesh there. He sucks in the skin and she tries to shuffle away as it tickles her. He chuckles against her, his lips roaming around the curve of her left breast, and his hand does the same on the right, and Clara grabs the laces for the first time as sensation rolls over her, when his lips come close to her hard nipples. The tip of his tongue circles the hard flesh, the other he has between his thumb and the forefinger, rolling the skin till she gasps out loud.

Now he crawls completely onto the bed one leg between hers, close to her centre he continues to kiss her breasts by turns, sucking in the full flesh into his mouth till he needs to groan, feeling his erection almost fully hard. He ignores it, for now, everything he does he does for her, for her pleasure.

He twists her nipples in his mouth, his hands scratching from her arms down her sides down to her bottom what makes her jerk when he crosses a bundle of nerves there. His mouth follows soon, kissing every inch of her, down to her waist, over one of her hipbones down her thigh.

A scent of lust crawls into his nose, when he comes over the small part where the leg goes into the hip. To stop him from spreading her legs apart to lick her, he licks violently over the soft skin there. His hands embrace around her ankles and he brings her feet up, so they stand on the bed and kneels between them kissing his way over the inside of her thighs.

Clara is rocked in turns by goosebumps, soft shudders of pleasure and smiles that arise when he occasionally tickles her with his beard.

Armand is pleased to see how she bits her lips under his kisses, how she shuffles around and how she occasionally forgets that she is tied up and wants to reach for him to push him presumably into the better direction. But he has this all planned out, the only danger there is, is that he loses patience and will be overrun by his own lust. So he continues in his slow pace, kissing up her thigh, his hands cupping her bottom now, and his thumbs make firm circles close to her centre.

“You doing this on purpose, don’t you?” she breathes heavily. “And you are enjoying that I am suffering, ain’t I right?”

He laughs, and bites playfully into her skin, “I am not going to lie, dear. You are just too deliciously beautiful and tasty that I won’t miss something here by rushing things.”

She groans in frustration, her head thrown into the pillow and as a reaction he gives a little bit in and his face hovers over her sex now. Immediately she spreads her legs more and he licks his lips hungrily for her by the sight of it.

Clara is wet, and her sex is swollen and he is tempted to press his nose into her, for tasting her. Instead he breathes hot against her clit and Clara squeals over the affect - a mix of cold and hot. Then he places little kisses around her outer labias, and he can’t control his tongue so he starts to taste her and the taste of her makes him want to touch himself, he has gotten so hard for her while his journey over her body, that he can feel his shirt being wet from his pre-cum. He denies himself the touches and begins to reveal her clit with his hands and Clara gets stone still when she feels what he is about to do. Armand glances up for a moment, smiling, and then lingers with his lips by the little nub, breathing against it, his tongue hesitantly darts out - it is not only for Clara an ordeal.

“Armand…” Clara utters after nothing happens in long seconds.

It’s only the tip of his tongue, but it sends a shiver and thousands sparks through her. He does it again, this time slower, sliding from her entrance to the little mound, closing his lips around the sensitive spot and sucks it in. She tastes like a sweet desert to him. 

Clara almost rips apart the laces from the backrest, but Armand had done good work, “Jesus!”

Chuckling he lets go of her and kisses his way up over her chest, stopping by each of her nipples, to flick his tongue over them - he enjoys the soft flesh at the downside and the hard flesh in his mouth. He can’t remember that he has cherished something similar in his life with such enthusiasm.

With little pecks he comes over her chin to her mouth, “That’s blasphemy, little Clara. And you know what happens to naughty women, who do blasphemy, don’t you? They get punished,” his lips barely touch hers, and before she can answer he kisses her violently, and his fingers land on her clit, only pressing hard against it till she needs to break away from his mouth to gasp for air and for an outcry.

Then he starts circling her, in patient motions and starts whispering profanities in her ear, his other hand around his cock, stroking it in the same agonizing pace he gives to Clara, “Do you remember I fucked you first? There in your bedroom? And later when I made you bent over by the bedpost? That’s when I fell for you, all gorgeous and fuckable. All sweet and young and naughty.”

His words are whispers, hoarse rumblings in her ear, like a poem, like a promise and she turns her head, mouth half open, leaning forward in hope he would allow her to taste his tongue. Before he does, he wets her lips with his pre juice and Clara takes the opportunity to suck in his fingers, swirling her tongue around, humming and greedy and Armand can’t hold himself back and replaces his fingers with his tongue. The tip of his cock is pressed against her upper thigh and he grinds against her, groaning.

“Let me come…,” Clara whispers, he still hasn’t quickened his pace. It’s only a teasing, but so intense that there is not much left of her. She believes one flick with his tongue would be enough to fall over the edge.

“I love when you beg me,” he crawls down again, between her legs, only kissing her thighs and around her sensitive area, over the pubic hair and by her bottom. He had brought her where he wanted her, at the edge of insanity.

“I…,” Clara has lost the ability to speak, she needs all the air in her lungs, and tries to demand her own body to come. Something impossible. She needs his consent, his order.

Then finally his tongue finds its way over her clit again, and he starts to lick her, one finger gently supporting his movements, but the way he touches her is still only like a feather, it’s not enough for release. When he feels she will either die or fall unconscious, he gives in with more pressure, and speeds up slightly. Not harsh, but firm and sensitive.

“Oh god, oh god, Armand… I…,” she feels her orgasm rise from her stomach in low waves rippling through her body.

“Let it happen, come for me, Clara,” he keeps the pace, knows it is enough to lay her gently down into the warm, welcoming feeling of frenzy.

And with that, Clara comes, not hard, but beautifully long and the joy rushes through her in hot waves, making her body tremble and her hands grasp around the laces, while Armand licks her through her climax, licks away her juice, his palms caressing her body while she whimpers under him and the almost never ending sensation.

When she slowly regains control over herself, he lets go of her now so sensitive spot, but doesn’t stop from his worshipping and plasters her body with kisses, till he comes to her head were he removes the blindfold carefully, “You know that the sound you make when you come sounds beautifully arousing.”

She looks at him, her eyes wide open, her cheeks red and Armand can nothing but love for him detect in her. Her eyes dart down for a moment, and she can see his erection under his shirt, “Let me help you.”

He smiles bright at her, shaking his head gently, “No, I am not finished with you yet.” And with that he embraces her body with his hands and arm, cups the back of her head, shoves himself on top of her and kisses her passionately. There is a fever now in him, a want that can’t be pushed back any longer. More eager and with more demand, he kisses the way down to her breasts, sucks them in and scraps with his teeth over it, till Clara moans loudly under him. She is still filled up with emotions and rippling waves of pleasure, as if her first climax was only there to make space for more intensity.

Armand’s wanting touches light the glowing inside of her once more to a fire, that will soon get out of control. He knows, she needs time to recover, and he needs to find the right mix of teasing and rest for her. It is not easy, he feels so close and is glad she is tied up. A grasp of her hand around his cock would make him come all against his will.

His fingers scratch over her body, down her legs, sending shiver after shiver through her. He places bites and kisses everywhere, but spares the middle for good reasons.

Then he turns her onto her front, the laces deliberately long enough for it and Clara arches her bottom a bit when he traces with his lips over the soft flesh, so untouched and now so delicate.

His moustache tickles the small of her back and she laughs and he smiles over it, reaching her shoulder blades, “I want to do this to you every night from now on.”

“I am not sure if I would survive it,” she smirks, and he lets his hand travel between her legs, up to her middle, and when she feels his fingers there, her head drops on her arms and her eyes fall shut. “Armand.”

He lays on his side now, watching her face, while his fingers explore the wetness, how she opens her mouth slightly, breathing with his touches and when he dives into her, her teeth catch her lower lip and she hums low. When his fingers retreat a guttural gasp comes out of her mouth, and she needs to press half of her face into the pillow. The sight of it makes him push into her once more and soon he fucks her under groans and obscene moves of her hip, with two fingers.

Armand can’t take it any longer, he turns her on her back again, and straddles her hips, and claims her. His cock hard and pulsing slides into her with one firm stroke and he starts to fuck her, his eyes steady on her, watching her emotions, how she moves under him, how her expression is all desire and pleasure and he knows he is the reason and there in this moment he is sure, that he loves her more than anything.

His hips slam into her, and when he senses that she is close, he takes off the laces with one harsh yank from the bed, and Clara can slip out of the bonds and her hands come around his neck. They meet for a kiss and he flips them both around, Clara now on top. They kiss deep and move in unison, his cock now deep in her. Her next climax almost there, her reward.

Armand comes up with his body, and holds her tight, steadies her, one hand between them, rubbing her clit, while she rides them both finally over the edge.

This time it is an almost violent orgasm that rips Clara apart and her head drops back against her will, Armand’s hand catches her, and the sight of her lets him come and it feels as someone has pushed him into a fire.

It’s an intense feeling, and they both think, that it is the only thing worth living for, because they share it with each other and not simply someone.

Clara’s head drops onto his chest, her hair sprawls over him and the bed, and she pants heavily, pressing soft kisses onto his skin. His hands entangle with her hair and when he feels her shiver, he immediately grabs for a blanket and shoves them over her.

“I still don’t understand why you chose me in all this world, a cruel man, fixed on France, ready to do everything that is necessary to form this land. Even when it means to kill people. You can have anyone. One of the Musketeers maybe, they might be more honourable as I am,” he talks in her ear, while she comes to rest on his chest, her hands, drawing little circles on his skin.

Clara smirks, without answering for a while, so long that he thinks she might has fallen asleep, “Don’t you see? You are not the man I met months ago, you changed - for the better. You might not see it yet, but you have, and that’s why I chose you. Because your intentions are honourable, even they are cruel. A while ago you never would have admitted that you think you are cruel. Insight is the way to improvement.”

He thinks about her words, thinks about if he really has changed and maybe he has, he can’t tell yet. Also, he has caught himself in the last weeks, that his first thought is not France anymore and that he thinks that he might has done enough for this country. To many attempts on his life - naturally one will be successful one day. It’s nothing he aspires.

When Clara has fallen asleep on him he still tries to find an answer what to do with her. They couldn’t go on like this forever. A decision needed to be made earlier or later. Right now he is unable to make it, to find a solution.

They both can’t know someone else will make it for them.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much character development here, but the next will be different and this story will come to an end in two chapters. I came up with a reasonable end for the two and hope I can write it down as soon as possible.  
> Thank you all for your comments and your reads and I am really surprised how many of you seem to not only enjoy the smut but also the little love story that has evolved (not even I knew this would happen).


	12. 12_Trust me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a world of danger and mischief Richelieu lives, and he can't be Cardinal and be with Clara at the same time. Things start to happen, and decisions have to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We turn back to the character development here and I push the story to it's end. But I don't let you go without a bit of "hanky panky".

The next morning Clara awoke before Armand, the scent of him in her nose, she rose her head to find the sun shining red into the room. Everything was silent, the palace still asleep only some birds chirping in the distance. She never had felt more at ease and never felt Armand’s place more peaceful. She carefully turned and found him still sleeping. She smirked over him, as he laid on his chest, sprawled out, one hand embracing hers. He liked his fingers, as they were beautiful to look at, long and clean and always warm when he touched her with them. After a minute she shifted and started to place kisses over his back and that made him wake up slowly with little moans that indicated delight.

“Are you teasing me? Or is this your way of saying “ _good morning”_?” he opened his eyes, looking at her, while her naked body pressed against his.

“I haven’t decided yet,” she shoved one hand over his bottom, down between his legs, and her mouth kissed down the back of his neck.

He jumped over the touch between his legs and felt arousal immediately, “If you don’t want to be claimed once more before I have to leave for the day, you better stop, or I can’t guarantee for nothing.”

Clara let her hands keep wander on and grasped his testicles, now kissing the small of his back, and Armand groaned under the welcoming delay that hindered him from standing up. He rose his hip and allowed Clara to slip her hand around his erection. He had been hard before her touching him, but her attention forbid him now to will it away. With gentle strokes she pumped the flesh of his cock till he moaned loudly into the pillow.

Then suddenly, he shot up, and grabbed her, pulling her in into a passionate kiss, while straddling her legs to bring himself between her, “I told you, woman!” His cock was rubbing at her entrance, and Clara smirked at him in mischief. It was exactly what she wanted.

“I think the Cardinal needs to punish me for my sins,” she moved her hips over the tip of his cock and worked her way down, Richelieu joined her movement and pushed into her with a gasp.

He didn’t care if he would came too late to any appointment, also he was a Cardinal, he would come up with a good excuse. It would be an excuse for a beautiful sin, he thought, when he locked eyes with her, while he started moving his hips. Her eyes, it had always been her eyes he found the most pleasure in it. They showed him so much, all her emotions reflected there and sometimes he could see himself - he could see himself become a better person.

They both rolled around in the bed, battling for being on top, sharing hungry kisses, little tries to bite the other, while not losing contact. In the end Clara let Armand win, but only because she actually liked him being on top, his long figure over her, and his thick cock in the perfect angle inside of her, stimulating her sweet spot. Her hand reached between them, circling her clit, while he watched her do it, what aroused him even more and with half a dozen hard pushes he brought himself and her to release.

“I think I need this every morning,” she smirked, when he rolled of her, catching his breath aside of her.

His hands covered his face for a moment before he tousled his own hair, “I am not sure, if I will survive this, dear Clara.” He then shoved himself out of the bed, to get a wash and to get dressed.

Clara watched him attentively when he put on his leather garb, and even she didn’t like all the leather on him, she found it suited him. He was a quite astonishing appearance.

“I’ll be away for the morning, but I think I come back till lunch for an hour,” he went for the door. “I would be pleased to see you then.”

He was aware it sounded like a demand the Cardinal would give, but he knew Clara would see through it. He needed to play a role outside that door, and when he slipped into his gear, he became the Cardinal again. A ruthless man, without a heart. It was true, he had no heart when he stepped outside this door, because he left it with Clara. It was the best place to hide it - with her.

“I don’t think I can deny this offer,” she winked at him and turned around to go back to sleep again for a while.

Richelieu chuckled over her reaction, and then left his chambers. He ordered the soldier in front not to leave from his door, except Clara would leave, and he had order to follow her anywhere.

 

When noon came, he returned to his private grounds. Walking down the corridor that lead to his private bedroom and chambers, he noted the soldier had gone, and so he expected Clara to be in the gardens or maybe in the library. He wanted to pay her a visit, but before that he needed to refresh himself and get off the heavy cloak that once more tore at his shoulders. Clara probably had been right, he should get rid of it, or replace it by something lighter.

He entered his rooms, and flung the cloak over one of the armchairs. The bed was still unmade and he found himself smiling over the memories of last night and the morning. Then he went into the bathroom to wash his face. It was a warm day, and he sought something cool on his skin. After he had splashed a good amount of water over his face he reached for a towel nearby, when he sensed a movement.

It caught him off guard and so there was no possibility for him to react, and when something hard pressed into his back, he knew there was a certain danger. Richelieu could tell the difference between a gun that was hold to his back, and a crossbow - it was not a gun, and so the person who held it, seemed not to be dumb. A crossbow would kill him in silence.

“Best regards, from the Queen.”

Richelieu meet eyes with the man behind him in the mirror. A familiar face, the soldier he had told to guard Clara. He sensed he did a horrible mistake and whirled around. That could have been a mistake with another, more nervous assassin, but this one just quickly stepped back, holding up the crossbow, to his head now, “Ah, ah, better don’t make quick movements, Cardinal.”

“Where is the girl?” Armand asked harsh, knowing he sounded too desperate and had betrayed himself and his amount of caring for Clara. This could be a disadvantage later, he thought.

“The girl? She wandered off, to the gardens I think,” the man smirked, motioning Richelieu to try his face with the cloth. “I am sure she will come back soon, to find your dead body on the floor.”

Armand swallowed, his mind racing, desperate to come up with a plan, “So you are here to kill me then?” he threw the towel aside and walked out of the room. Knowing he would die so or so, he found courage in his doings.

The man followed, the weapon always aimed at him, “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

Richelieu stared out of the window, thinking how to play out time. Also he noted, the man seemed not to be in a hurry, he could have killed him the moment he had entered or in the bathroom. There was a deceit in his delay.

“So, the Queen,” the Cardinal turned around, eyeing the man. Strong, lean, it would be hard to put up a fight with him. “As it seems, she hasn’t forgiven me then, for trying to kill her.”

“No,” the man knew all about. A year ago, Richelieu had tried to get her killed in assumption she was barren, what would have been horrible to the devolution of the crown. His attempt had failed, the Queen was of course not amused but she didn’t do anything against him, as he assured her, it was all for King and country - what was not a lie. It seemed, she had only waited for revenge. Richelieu couldn’t hold it against her when he was honest.

“What does she pay you?” everyone had a price. “I pay you double.”

That made his opponent only laugh, evil and cruel, “She told me you would try to get your neck out of the sling. And that’s why she came to me, knowing I can’t be bought by you.”

“Everybody has a price,” Richelieu answered superior.

“I despise you, Cardinal,” his eyes travelled over his posture in disgust. “And everything you stand for. Your death will be a win for France.”

“Aside the crossbow you aiming at me, I would like to object that,” Richelieu was afraid, deep inside he was afraid, that his day had come. That finally one of the many attempts would be successful and his life would come to an end, but he was good, very good in concealing this. All the years in politics, handling impossible challenges and even more impossible negotiation partner, had crafted his talent for hiding his true intentions. He had played this game all his life, he would play it till the end. How often had he promised one thing only to get the other? How often had he promised an alliance to let his opponent get murdered by his man? He had brought many man to fall, into the dungeons or the exile with a stern expression and the promise of giving, while the truth was that he was taking.

“You do think you are clever, don’t you? All smug you are! How many have you on your conscious, Cardinal? You think you form France, but the only thing you do is being cruel and a coward!”

Armand made a smacking sound with his mouth, doing as if he was bored by the words of the man, but the words about cruel and being a coward made him snap and defend himself, “France would be nothing without me, and people like you would rule it only to bring it to it’s fall. Spain would have taken this land without me already! The Queen should know better!”

“Maybe she does, I don’t care. Who ever follows you, can only be better! I don’t kill you for the Queen, I kill you for the sake of myself. I get what I want and the Queen too,” he stretched his arm out and lowered the crossbow down to Richelieu’s chest.

“Then, what are you waiting for?” Richelieu thought about what horrible last word that would be, when the door went open and Clara came in, some flowers in her hands, and all distracted by it.

She then spotted Armand, and a smile lit up on her face, before she noticed the soldier with the weapon aimed at her lover.

Everything happened very fast. The soldier got distracted but still pulled the trigger and in silence the arrow crossed the room to land in Richelieu’s shoulder.

“Armand!” Clara called out, the flowers dropping to the floor and wanted to get to him, but she didn’t get far. The crossbow fell down to the floor, replaced by a gun, that now was aimed at her, after she had been grabbed and pulled into a violent embrace from the assassin.

“Clara, no!” Armand had fallen to his knees, the wound hurting vigorously, the arrow deep inside his flesh.

For a moment there was silence, everybody considering the new - unforeseen - situation, and how to proceed.

“You can’t kill us both!” Richelieu spoke up first, back on his feet, holding his arm, so the pain would be in check. “After the first blow, my soldiers will be here in an instant! You never make it out alive!”

The man was well aware of it. Only one bullet, and it must be for the Cardinal. Not killing the man would mean his own death, the Queen wouldn’t take the charge for what happened here. He sensed he was a dead man anyway, and that was what made him dangerous. Richelieu became aware of this too.

“Maybe I should kill the girl,” he held the gun to Clara’s temple, while she tried to struggle her way free.

“Let me go!” she hissed and Richelieu feared for her.

“Clara, don’t!” he held out a hand, hoping she would understand and become more calm, what she did. She needed to trust him. Her eyes laid worried on his wound, blood dripping down the floor - he needed medical attention soon. “Armand…”

“It will be fine.”

“Oh, you two! Last night, it was really entertaining, I have to say-”

“-shut up!” Richelieu yelled in anger. “Let her go, or god help you!”

“God help me?” it only made him laugh. “Yes, I think I am going to kill her. It seems you are very fond of her, Cardinal. Lets see how you deal with it. Maybe it is possible to break you in an all different way, no one has ever thought about.”

“No, no, no! Wait!” Armand managed to step closer, his wound made him a lesser threat, “You came for me, so let her go. She will be no threat to you.”

“Armand, no!”

He silenced her with a grim face, and a finger held out, “Shut up!”

“She is just an ordinary wench,” it hurt him saying it, and it hurt her hearing it, “Killing her brings you nothing!” he made another step closer, but this time the man retreated a bit from him, so Armand stopped. “You are dead anyway, you know it. Kill me, it makes your death worth.”

Clara held her breath, locking eyes with Armand for a moment. He had no plan, except the one, that he died instead of her. She felt something was about to collapse.

The man began to nod, “Yes, you’re right,” he aimed the gun now at the Cardinal, his other hand around Clara’s neck, holding her still. But Clara was no one who could be kept still when she didn’t wanted to. She would not let this happen, not to her, not to Armand.

Richelieu didn’t knew he held his breath, till the gunshot broke, and the shock made him gasp. He wasn’t dead yet, and he was not hit.

Clara had bit the man and had punched him with the back of her head, what made it impossible to aim. As there was a second bullet in the chamber, Richelieu knew he needed to act quickly. With a short prayer he pulled out the arrow out of his shoulders underlined with a yell, and lunged forward to plunge the thing into his opponent's chest - than grabbing for the gun.

The men fell to the floor, struggling, both bleeding and Richelieu knew he couldn’t win, he was to weak already.

Clara stormed to the door and ripped it open, calling for the guards, who were already storming down the corridors. They grabbed the attacker from the floor and sliced his throat without hesitation.

Armand laid on the floor, his wound pulsing and bleeding heavily. It must be done something quickly, or he would lose his conscious, so he pressed hard against the wound. He watched the guards bring the body away and call for an physician, half the palace would be soon in uproar.

This was it, Richelieu thought, the moment he had to chose, the moment he had to act. A decision needed to be made. The Queen wouldn’t be happy over his survival - in case he would survive. This day had set something in motion, that might never could be stopped again.

“Clara!” he called out, and she fell to his side. “You need to go!”

“What? No, I-”

“You need to go! Go to your old rooms. You are not safe here!” he breathed, and felt the life draining out of him.

“He is dead!” Clara helped him press against the wound, seeing how Armand got paler and paler.

Weak he shook his head, “Where is one… there are many…, they know…” he couldn’t went on.

People knew about the woman he shared the bed with. The Queen knew for sure, she had always knew. They knew how he felt for her, and all this had became a threat now. The Cardinal didn’t needed to be killed. The greater effect on him would be Clara’s dead, and that he knew, and so she needed to leave quickly. “Trust me! I meet you there! Leave!”

“Armand…”

He cupped her cheek, his hand all bloody, and hissed in desperation, “Please!”

The soldiers came back, a physician at hand, and when Clara was sure he was now in good hands, she left the room and ran as fast as she could. Leaving the palace behind her, running back to her old rooms in Paris.

Her dress was soaked in blood and only now, when she was safe in her chambers, it wondered her that no one had stopped her, but it was Paris. Odd things happened in Paris all day.

She fell exhausted onto her bed, trying to recapitulating what had happened. First she wanted to slap herself, over the fact, she had left Armand behind. She should have stayed, though she knew he had his reasons and where one assassin was, could be more. The only thing she could do now was wait. Wait for a message and wait for him. He was strong, and had good physicians, he would be well, he must be well. Surely he would show up on her doorstep before the day would come to an end.

Holding the cross in her hand, she crawled under the bedspreads and fell into a slumber.

Armand didn’t show up, and also no message from. Not that night, and not the other. Every minute that passed seemed to push Clara bit by bit into madness. She was worried sick over not knowing what had happened with Armand.

Was he so much hurt, that he couldn’t leave bed? Maybe he was not awake or worse, long dead. She tried to tell herself, she surely had heard on the streets when he had died. Cardinal Richelieu was a famous man, his dead would go round like a fire on the streets.

However, she never could be sure, but she couldn’t go back to the palace. They surely would remember that she had been there when the incident had happened, and would ask her questions. When Armand was no more alive or unable to stand at her side, this could have bad consequences for her. If the attempt had been the Queen’s plan, Clara couldn’t be sure that the Queen wasn’t after her too.

The only thing she could do was wait. Sit there and watch the sun move from east to west, day by day. Minutes became hours and hours weeks and days felt like years. With each loud clatter on the street she hoped for a carriage, with each voice that arouse under her window she nourished hope it would be Armand or at least one of his soldiers calling out for her.

Hope was the only thing she had, and his words that echoed all the time in her head, “Trust me!”

The thing with hope was, that it could die quickly or really slowly when not fed. In the end, when no word comes, it dies bit by bit. It drained Clara out, and then when eight days had passed the rumour that had landed in the streets a day ago, finally reached the place where she lived. Like a quick shadow it had crawled all the way from the palace onto her doorstep.

Armand Jean du Plessis, Cardinal-Duke of Richelieu had passed away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end guys! One more chapter! Will there be a happy end?
> 
> Thanks to alice-amiryan, as she has provided me the info about The Queen and that the Cardinal tried to murder her in the show because he thought she was barren. (I heard it was the Kind who was barren in case someone is wondering)


	13. 13_The Desert in my Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armand is dead. What now? What will become of Clara? Can she let go of him, after attending his funeral? Also, will the Queen really let her live on, as she is the only one with the knowledge of the true events?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Chapter! Let's see if I can entertain you once more and catch up with your expectations.

A week later, they held the funeral service in the church of Sorbonne, where they would lay him to rest.

It was a big church, suitable place for the last resting place of a Cardinal. Also enough rows for King, Queen and the nobility of France to pay one last respect. A successor already at the side of the King. Even shining figures like Cardinal Richelieu could be replaced in an blink.

The mass was held by the bishop and not only the higher classes got lured in by the event his funeral was, also the commonality of Paris’s street found the way into the church.

Also Clara found her way into the back of the church, dressed in black and a veil, hiding her cried out eyes and the sadness that seemed to be engraved into her face.

When she had heard about the news, she had hoped it was not true, just a wild gone rumour, but soon the palace confirmed the death of Armand with an official notice outside the palace walls. The bishop and the church of Paris sent out the same statement. Rumour had became fact and it was a hurtful, destroying truth, that hit Clara when she read the paper herself.

She had locked herself into her rooms, and cried two days without eating, clutching to the cross of Armand around her neck and the faint scent of him in her pillows.

When days had passed, she had slowly gathered back up into a stable form, urging herself to eat something, to wash herself and leave the house to find back into the real world.

Stick to long in the past would cost too much. She had to come up with a plan, what to do, how to live on. What to work and where. To be an prostitute again was not what she wanted, and also she not wanted to stay in Paris anymore, it was no place to become happy again. The man Richelieu was maybe dead, but his name and memory would linger in the streets of Paris for a long time, that she wouldn’t stand.

In long walks in the parks, she had came up with the idea, that she could move to the country, try her luck as a maid or something similar. As she had saved money, she had a bit of time to think about and maybe could rent a little cottage somewhere and then start looking for work. It would be hard, but Clara had seen and done a lot already in her life, she would figure something out.

The thoughts about her worries but were only a temporal replacement of Armand in her thoughts. She had told him that she had loved him, and she never had felt with anyone before and was sure she wouldn’t for a long while. She not wanted to admit it to herself, but she never had felt more empty and hopeless in her life. The loss of him, had made a deep hole into her heart - the pain was almost unbearable.

Coming closer to the funeral, the thoughts of killing herself became more frequent. Maybe it would go away after she had said her goodbye at his grave, she thought. This or she would end up beside him, in an attempt of slicing her wrists - she couldn’t tell now. Everything was a fog in her head, every move hurt and everything she did, felt like she was wrapped up behind thick curtains - away from the rest of the world.

She found a silent spot on the gallery of the church, with a good view onto his coffin. In front the King and the Queen mourning their old chief minister. Well, one did, the other - the Queen - seemed not that touched, but maybe this was just Clara, knowing more than anyone else.

Some simple soldiers and a few nuns had found the way to the gallery too, but Clara ignored them, her eyes constantly on the coffin. The whole ceremony took over an hour and when it was over, Clara couldn’t remember a word, nor a choral that had been sung, so deep she had been retreated into herself, mourning the man she loved, not the Cardinal, but Armand.

After the ceremony they brought the coffin to the undercroft where they would keep the access open for the public for three days, before they would seal it, and only the King and Church would be allowed to go there. It made her heart cringe, to know he would rest alone in the cold as nor King nor Church would pay him a visit after the day would be over.

The nuns and the soldiers stood up and went down the stairs to pay the last respects, when she bumped into one of the soldiers who had taken longer to leave as the others. She was so in thought, she almost forgot to excuse herself for her carelessness.

“I am sorry,” she whispered without looking and the man only made a hand gesture to tell her she should go on first.

Over an hour passed when Clara found finally herself in front of the coffin, a dark brown heavy thing, all pompous with way too many flowers on and around it, guarded by a Musketeer wrapped in a blue coat and a dark red scarf. Clara was sure Armand would have hated it. A Musketeer. It almost made her laugh.

“What makes you laugh, woman? Is it not a day to mourn the dead?” a rasp voice arose behind her.

She only glanced around for a second, noticing the soldier she had overseen in the gallery. Tucked in a woollen black coat, half his face buried into a scarf around his neck. Clara detected the man was cold, as the crypt was indeed cold and she self had tightened her cloak around herself unconsciously while waiting.

“Yes, it is,” she smiled faintly toward the coffin, she was not allowed to touch, and it hurt her. “I only laughed about the Musketeer guarding the dead man.”

“So?”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” she only turned slightly to him, her cold hands found their way around the golden cross. “The Cardinal was never very fond of the Musketeers,” she kept silent for a moment, thinking about it, while the man hummed. “It seems like a little revenge of the Captain of the Musketeers.”

The man shifted behind her, “Captain Treville,” and then walked past her toward the exit, waiting for a moment, but when he noticed she still needed her time, he stepped outside and left her.

“Yes,” she said more to herself.

She never had been a person with a strong faith in god or something people called heaven - probably as she knew, if it existed, she never would reach the heavenly gates after selling herself. Although she said a little prayer in her head for him, hoping it would reach him and guide him. Then she said her little goodbyes and then followed the way the man had gone, as there was no other way out.

She couldn’t spot the soldier anymore, he was gone, like the day was almost gone, and she shook her head over the encounter. Turning around once more to look at the coffin, she felt tears run down her cheeks. She needed to go, it was no place to be, it was cold and dark, and the man in the coffin was long cold and pale and not the man she missed and loved. Shaking herself out of a trance, she pulled her cloak even tighter around herself and hurried away, down the streets.

The streets were full with people, nothing unusual for the time of day, but suddenly Clara felt all overwhelmed. It was too much. Too much people, too narrow room, too many emotions. Her breathing rate doubled, and her steps quickened and soon she was not only walking fast, she was running.

She was running down the street. Something was amiss, something was happening. Someone. There was someone. Running behind her. Running after her. She couldn’t see it clearly, because the tears blurred her field of view, but Clara was sure she had spotted the soldier in the black cloak who seemed to be after her.

Her heart beat fast, and the feeling in her chest became such pain she couldn’t blank it out anymore. It felt as if her chest became smaller with each breath she took. Desperately she tried to get away, to bring distance between the follower and her, but there were so many people and she bumped in so many, that she almost lost grip and fell. The streets were wet, it had rained while she had been in the church, and the pavement was slippery and not good to get away from an attacker.

‘ _They have found me!’_ she thought. Had the Queen sent out for her too? It was the only explanation.

After something what felt like an eternity she reached a big square with a market. People yelling and screaming and praising their goods.

Chaos, and Clara didn’t know where to go. She stopped, out of breath, everything hurt. She didn’t know what to do, it would be impossible to run forever. They would find her in the end, she thought. If not here, later in her rooms. Someone was probably already waiting for her there.

She turned around and glanced over the heads of the people around her, that’s where she spotted her follower. The man in black. He stood by an old cart, looking out for her. She could see he was out of breath himself, but as a soldier he would regain quicker as she would.

He was still wearing the scarf around his neck, and it seemed it hindered him and so he ripped it down his face to get air into his lungs and get a better sight, and that’s when he and her locked eyes.

Dark eyes, eyes of a murderer, and a deep scar on the left side of his face. It was a horrid face. Clara shrieked over it. She needed to get away.

Whirling around she started running, without looking back, only when she would run as fast and far as she could, she would have a chance. However, people where in the way and two times she was able to dodge around a dog and a merchant, and then her cloak got caught up at the edge of a cart. The thing ripped apart, but yanked at her and so she slipped on the wet pavement, coming down on all four, almost hitting her head.

That was when she lost all orientation, and all hope. It was the mistake she shouldn’t have made, she now was in the hands of her attacker soon. The only good thing about it was, she would follow Armand.

Armand. With the thought of him and the picture of him in her head, she started to sob like she was in a frenzy of sadness.

‘ _Didn’t I trust you? So why did you leave me?’,_ her left hand came around the cross once more. When she needed to die, than at least with something in hand that reminded her about him.

A shadow cast over her, and she didn’t dare to look and simply pressed her eyes closed, hoping it would be a quick and painless death.

People started to become louder around her, she heard gasping and panting. A growl and then a thud of a body that went to the floor in front of her. When she opened her eyes to see what was happening she stared into the grimace of her attacker. The scar clear to see in front of her. Dead. A knife stuck in the back of his neck.

Someone began to scream, “Murder! Murder!” and then a hand slipped into Clara’s and pulled her up.

Warm. All so warm was the hand.

In the uniform of a musketeer, and between a hat, and a dark red scarf that was pulled around chin and mouth, greenish eyes peered at her, with a hint of a smile, “Trust me!”

And that’s when he pulled her with him, through the crowd, till the end of the street, where a carriage was waiting. She followed and didn’t know what was happening, but when she had seen those eyes, she knew. She knew, even it was impossible.

He shoved her inside the small carriage and hammered his fist against the wood, to signal the driver to move. With a jerk the wagon started to move, shaking its passengers around and it took a while till the vehicle came to better streets and slowed down a little.

Clara started to panic, the windows of the carriage where darkened. She barely saw something, and she soon feared she had run from one danger into the next trap.

“Let me out!” she yelled and lunged for the door.

Again the man hit against the inside and they came to an halt. Immediately Clara hopped out only to be followed by the man who had saved her, reaching out for her wrist and stopped her. “Let me go!”

The scarf came down, just as the hat, revealing a tired looking, but a very alive Armand, “Not ever again!”

“No!” Clara gasped, grabbing the cross around her neck. “This can’t be!” Yet,it was him.

The significant moustache was gone, replaced by a still growing full beard, but the rest was him. The eyes, the nose, the smile on his lips and the grey short curls. He pressed her hand against his face, to show her he was real, “I am alive, Clara! I am here. I promised, haven’t I?”

“But…,” he was warm as ever, and his personal odour got caught by her nose. “Armand!”

She fell around his neck and he pulled her into his body, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

"It's impossible," she clutched at him, her hands feeling out his body under the heavy clothing, not to be sure but to seek the closeness, that seemed to be gone forever only an hour ago.

"Clara, my Clara," he cupped her cheek, and pressed a firm kiss on her lips. It had been two long weeks exactly since he had kissed her the last time, and he was not willing to let that happen ever again. "Nothing ever is for me, when it comes to you."

“How?” her hands travelled over his features, tracing along the little wrinkles around his face, caressing his temples, along the edge of his ears.

Armand grabbed her hand again and pulled her back to the carriage, “Not here.”

So they returned into the carriage and Armand gave sign to drive on. Clara stared at him. In his musketeer uniform, it was so different to his Cardinal robe and the huge cloak. She remembered when she had met him first, the impression he had left on her and now he was sitting in front of her, the same man, and yet he had changed. On the inside and the outside.

Richelieu noticed her looks, and looked down on himself, “Treville gave me this.”

“Treville?” Clara blurted out. “You hate Treville and all his musketeers!”

“Hate is a strong word, Clara,” he smirked. “We dislike each other, but … he was the only one I could trust in the end.”

“So he is involved in all this?”

After Armand had sent Clara away, the physician had taken care of his wound and had been able to stop the bleeding. Weakened and knowing that the Queen might would try another attempt Armand came to the conclusion it was time to act himself.

“ _I need your help, Treville,”_ and then he had told him his plan.

“ _Are you kidding me? Why do you think I ever would help you?”_

“ _Because you actually tired of all the discussions we have about Musketeers and their interference in my plans! When I am gone, you don’t have to worry anymore about me. You know when I stay, I will do as much as I can to destroy the Musketeers. Not because I want, but because I need to - for the sake of France,”_ he had explained and Treville knew the Cardinal was right.

All the fights and arguments they had in the past, had cost time, he wanted to invest more into the forming of the corps. “ _The Queen wants to see me dead. She will not give up till it’s done.”_

“ _You have the power to stop her,”_ Treville had walked up and down in front of Richelieu’s bed, already thinking about how to realize this absurd plan. When the man hadn’t answered him he had stopped abruptly, eyeing him. And realization had dawned on him, “ _You don’t want to stop her.”_

“ _No,”_ he had admitted in a whisper, rubbing his aching shoulder. “ _I don’t desire this position anymore. I did what I could for France, I made my name and I made France. Spain will not be able to come after us. And there are good man, who can follow in my footsteps.”_

Treville had observed him long after this, battling with himself if it was a good idea to back up his plan. To help one of the most powerful man to vanish from the scene.

He wasn’t a stupid man, he knew about his proclivity for mistresses and he knew about Clara. He had seen her a few times in the gardens and he had seen her with Richelieu. Talking, smiling, sharing little touches. He knew that the most powerful man had fallen for a woman in the end.

It was none of his business, he had thought and had started to shook his head in an unnerving way and with a rolling of his eyes. There Richelieu knew Treville would help him.

“ _You can’t just leave, you have to die, you know that,”_ Treville had pointed out.

“ _That’s why I need your help. I am weakened. The wound is deep, I probably will survive, but it will be a good excuse for my death. I can act, Treville, and the doctors will think I’ll die. The Queen will be pleased to hear it.”_

They had known they had to act quickly. The moment Richelieu would die, they had to come with a coffin, a real dead body for the weight and had to seal the coffin without anyone taking another look.

Treville had told him, he couldn’t do it alone, he needed at least two other men and Richelieu said something he never thought he would to him, “ _I trust you, and your men.”_

“ _You are impossible!”_

From there on, the Cardinal had been guarded by a musketeer day and night, to prevent other attempts on his life. Three days later Richelieu had “died” in the night, Treville already waiting, with Athos, Porthos and Aramis, a coffin and a dead body they had found in the streets. Pure bastard, would now come to a rest in holy earth with a prominent spectacle.

They had sealed the coffin, and had given Richelieu new clothes. A musketeer uniform, he had shook his head over. The men mischievously had smiled at him, when he had dressed in it.

“ _Little revenge, Treville?”_

“ _Just paying my respects, Cardinal,”_ he had said and then the Cardinal had been brought away by D'Artagnan who had waited with two horses outside.

Of course the palace and the physicians were in uproar after Treville had told what had happened in the night. They demanded to open the coffin, more for being sure the man was dead and not only sleeping - things that had happened before.

Treville assured and threatened and had told that the Cardinal had ordered him to do so, presenting a last will, they had written the day before. Everybody who would open the coffin, should be damned and cursed - it had an effect on the narrow minded.

The Queen had been suspicious, and Richelieu knew he needed to look out for Clara, because the Queen would might use her, to lure him out of his hideout at the Musketeer barracks. Even if she hadn’t known, she might wanted to kill Clara, because she was the only one who knew about the true events.

So or so, Richelieu kept an eye on her. Followed her everywhere, but always stayed in the distance. He was doomed to wait till his coffin was under the earth, only then the people would move on with their thoughts and the Queen might would let go of the matter - after a last try to get to Clara.

Now, as Armand had blighted her attempt, with killing the assassin, the Queen surely knew he was still alive. He had sent her a letter short before, a blank page and his Cardinal ring. He wouldn’t return, that was the statement.

Clara listened attentively, it would take time till she had understood everything.

“And now what? Where do we go?”

“Well, Clara, that depends on you now,” Armand took her hand in his. “I have a nice place in the Provence. I have enough money, and I don’t have to worry of anything, for the rest of my life. And I want you to come with me. Live with me there.”

“But… what is with the palace. France. You as Cardinal?” Clara couldn’t process everything he had told her, and that everything was about to change now.

“The Cardinal died, Clara,” he said forcefully. “I hadn’t made the decision, if I not wanted to do this. I decided to leave France, and everything I was behind. And I hope you will come with me.”

Clara listened to the rattle of the wheels on the street for a minute and then rose her head again, “Why?”

“Stupid woman!” he placed her hands onto his chest. “Because I lo-..., I… oh you know!”

She watched her hands on his chest, rising and falling gently with his breathing, his long fingers curled around hers, “Can’t you say it?”

His answer was a long exhalation, and a smile, “Does it need saying?” he smirked. “Of course it does!” he smirked impish at her. “Do you think I would have gone through all this, without loving you? What do you think we are going to do in the Provence? I can’t live with a woman just like that, side by side. People will talk, and we can’t have that.”

Clara frowned, her mouth opening and closing over words, and thoughts she couldn’t find yet, “S-so?”

Richelieu chuckled and said in a voice that belonged more to the Cardinal as him, “So I demand you become my wife!” he pulled out a ring.

Not wrapped, not presented in a fancy manner, just pulled out of the inside of his jacket. And without delay, he took Clara’s hand and pushed the ring on her wedding finger. It fitted perfectly.

Clara stared at the ring, and then at Armand, giving him a soft blow with her palm on his chest, “I haven’t said, yes, actually!”

He pursed his lips at her, giving her a smoulder, like the day, they had met first, “And I never said, you had the right to object!” he then leaned toward her lips. “But I am willing to discuss this… in bed with you.”

“You want to discuss, in our wedding night? I am looking forward to it,” she linked her fingers with his. “Now shut up, and kiss your wife!”

And that’s what he did, he kissed her deeply. Everyday from now on. Showed her his affection and his love in every way possible. He worshipped her and sometimes she tied him up to the bed, making him pray to god while taking him deep into her mouth, because a Cardinal was always a Cardinal and as a revenge he made her place her hands on the window sill in the warm summer mornings, and took her by the open window from behind, till she gasped his name over and over again.

Sometimes he found himself sitting by his desk, watching Clara draw, thinking about Paris and France, about things he could do for the nation, but then she came to him and kissed him tenderly on his lips, and the thought of France was washed away in an instant.

It had become unimportant, because Clara was the woman that had turned his heart from desert into an oasis.

End.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Clara was the woman that had turned his heart from desert into an oasis." I have to credit Qiyicai623 for this, and they allowed me kindly to use it as they did state this sentence in one of their comments. I loved it too much not to use it, and I am actually a bit angry I didn't came up with such good words myself, but sometimes a writer has to give in. 
> 
> Also, this is the last Chapter, the story ends here, and god, people how did it happen I wrote almost 45K words in like 20 days? I don't know whats "wrong" with me sometimes. Well, it was good for you and I loved writing this story and I am glad that you enjoyed the story.
> 
> I hope the ending fits the characters and that I was able to tie up lose ends and explain everything reasonable without sounding too strange.  
> Who watches the show, knows the Cardinal dies at the end of S1 and so I tried to stick to it somehow, aside my ending is a bit different. ;)
> 
> Leave a comment, tell me what you think, be honest, I can take it! Thanks so much for reading this thing and sorry for less smut in the last chapter, but I think you can forgive me. 
> 
> In case someone wonders, for the moment I don't plan writing more for these pairing because I want to return to my Randall/Clara pairing. But we will see what the future brings, if I have an idea, I most definitely will write it down!

**Author's Note:**

> So that's chapter one, hopefully it is promising. Sorry for any mistakes, my native is not English, and thanks for reading it anyway. Stay tuned for more. I hope I can update within a week. Subscribe, so you'll not miss it! 
> 
> Also don't be shy and leave a comment or a kudo or both or send me a message on my tumblr (Colepaldi-in-the-tardis).


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